Notes:
ButtonMashr: Thanks so much for the great reviews! I'm totally with you about the scene of everyone watching the video of Jason! I really loved the scene, filmmaking and all. I think you'll see some influence from that scene in a coming chapter :) And amongst many other things I found awkward in Season 3, yes, FP relying heavily on the Serpents to do his job was just weird, so I'm avoiding that.
Ellie: Juggling all the characters and all the arcs happening isn't actually as hard as I first went into this thinking. The characters do a lot of the work for me, but maybe if I'm feeling generous, I'll share my trade secrets with you at the end of this. I love that you loved Betty scenes in the last two chapters because I loved them, too! Betty is my favorite, even if she is the one in the most precarious situation right now. And I did toy around with the idea of her getting lost in the woods and playing with the symbolic element of her being subjected to the actual wilderness, but with big picture in mind, it wasn't going to work out, so it was one of the darlings I had to kill, so to speak.
This story has weirdly been so fun to write so far and I've only gotten more excited as a writer now that I've finally buckled in and decided to write something longer than what I'm used to! Thanks for continuing to read along, everyone!
Chapter 10: Graveyard Shift
Jughead breathed in and out and slowly raised his head toward the circle of confounded people around him. Veronica and FP were standing frozen in place and Gladys had a playful smile on her face. He looked between Veronica and his mom, unsure of who to address first, but someone beat him to it.
"Mom!" Jellybean yelled excitedly as she darted toward them and into Gladys' arms.
"Hey there, kiddo," Gladys said, returning the hug. "Look at you, you're getting so big!"
Jughead shook himself out of his stupor and glared at his mother. "Are we just going to pretend that everything that just happened is normal? Because a lot just happened. Why are you here?"
Gladys gave Jughead a sympathetic frown. "I really wasn't planning on coming back yet, but I heard about Betty and thought I would help out."
"The anonymous donation… that was you?" FP gawked.
She gave a modest shrug and laid a gentle hand on Jughead's shoulder. "I thought you might need a mom," she said in a quiet voice.
"I-," Jughead paused. He wasn't sure what to say. He had wanted his mom to come back, he missed her, but under the right circumstances. He couldn't imagine these being the right circumstances, especially since the past few times her name was anonymously attached to money, there were also strings attached.
"I'm grateful, but I can't help but be wary of your timing unless all you wanted was a dramatic entrance since I know you're so fond of those," he responded, a layer of sarcasm covering his suspicion tone.
"And one last note – the Lodge Detention Center is also currently hiring prison guard and other security personnel positions. Have a good night everyone!" The deputy cheerily called into the mic. Jughead had almost forgotten what was happening around them, but he suddenly turned his attention to Veronica, who was still apprehensively hanging behind Jughead.
"Do you know anything about this?" he probed. Veronica looked truly bewildered, and she recoiled slightly when he rounded on her.
She pursed her lips. "Jughead, I swear I don't know what's going on. He had nothing to do with Betty's disappearance, I promise. When I talked to him, he didn't know-,"
"You talked to him?" Jughead balked, taking a step back, "When? Why didn't you tell me?"
She sagged her shoulders. "A few days ago. I wanted to ask him about Chic."
Just then, Archie came bounding up, his mollified smile wiping off his face as he noticed the odd group. "What's going on?"
"Apparently Veronica talked to her dad and got the clear-all that he wasn't involved with Betty, yet she has no idea why he would donate tonight." Jughead retorted irritably, throwing a vindictive look her way.
"Hey, Jug, don't blame her! This isn't her fault!" Archie stepped in front of Veronica defensively. Veronica frowned, pushing him slightly and stepped next to him. "I believe her. Hiram may be up to something from what she's told me, but it has nothing-," Archie's eyes widened, realizing what he just said.
"What? You knew, too?" Jughead's heart sank. "You've been keeping this from me?"
"Oh, Princess, still stepping in places you shouldn't?" Gladys jested.
"Gladys! Stay out of this," FP warned, raising his hands and jumping in between her and the teens. Veronica grimaced at Gladys over FP's arm.
Archie stepped forward. "Jughead, once we concluded that Veronica's father had nothing to do with Betty, we didn't feel like you needed to know anything else. I mean really, not everything in this town is your business."
Jughead stared at his two friends, their expressions a mixture of defensiveness and guilt. "We all agreed no more secrets," he said in a firm voice.
"God, Jughead!" Archie's eyes flashed and he suddenly scowled, "We've been walking on eggshells for you for the past two weeks. All you've cared about is yourself! When will you learn you aren't the only one in all of this?"
Jughead snorted. "I don't think that."
"Oh yeah? You could have fooled me. Every time you mention something, it's always 'I' and 'me.' It's us, Jughead! Us and we!" Archie snapped back.
"We put this whole thing together for you as much as we did for Betty!" Veronica retorted before Jughead could answer. "And you still have the audacity to believe that you're the only one who can have feelings through all this? That the rest of us have to bend to you?"
"No!"
Archie scoffed, "You say no more secrets, and we've all given you grace, but I know you have more information than you are telling us. I know how you work; you still think you need to do the investigation on your own."
Jughead looked at the ground, the torrent in his chest frothing.
"Jughead?" FP's voice sounded. "Is that true?"
He snapped his head back up and stared at his dad. FP looked concernedly back at him, his hands on his hips. "It's just theories, not information. You're the one who told me to make a crime board."
"Still, it's practically been the Jughead show since Betty went missing. We have lives, too!" Archie stretched his arms out. Veronica nodded in approval at his words. "Don't blindly point fingers at us! Not when we've just been trying to help this whole time."
"Calm down, everyone!" FP's tone had grown a bit sharper. "What did I just say about needing to work together? I thought you were working stuff out this weekend, Jug."
"Apparently not enough," Jughead griped.
"Maybe we should just leave you alone to the investigation after all since that's what you want." Veronica angrily grumbled, crossing her arms and stepping in front of Archie.
Jughead grimaced back, "Yeah, maybe you should." He turned away from them.
"Everything okay, here?" Charles appeared next to Veronica with a concerned face and his hands folded behind his back.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," FP mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands.
Gladys raised an eyebrow and shifted her weight to one side. "And who's this handsome devil?" she said, eyeing Charles.
Jughead whirled around, gaping at his mother. A strangled gargle came from Veronica and everyone else in the group – including Jellybean – turned to Gladys with staggered expressions.
"What?" she asked, staring quizzically back.
FP stepped forward and blew a relented sigh. "Gladys, this is Charles. He's an FBI agent stationed here in town. Charles, this is my, uh…wife, Gladys."
Charles stepped forward, an almost contentious look spreading across his face reached out a hand. Jughead raised a curious eyebrow.
"Hello, Gladys, I'm Charles Smith. FP's son."
Jughead hadn't seen Charles get so feisty before; his answer was so belligerent that, if Jughead wasn't so heated, he would've laughed. Gladys had her mouth open, shifting her eyes between Charles and FP.
Jughead made eye contact with FP, who was giving him a 'we need to leave' look. Jughead nodded, very much wanting to leave.
"Son…?" Gladys was narrowing her eyes and slowly crossing her arms. "Charles Smith?" she uttered, an emphasis on Smith.
"Yes," said FP sternly, starting to usher everyone out of the room. "And we can talk all about it. At home."
Jughead began trotting away, but FP grabbed his arm. "Nh-uh, no running off. We are all going home to talk, we can come back and pick up your bike tomorrow. That also includes you." FP added, pushing a startled Charles toward the door.
Jughead turned over his shoulder as he walked out of the town hall, shooting Archie and Veronica one last furious glance. They stood glaring back, slowly falling away amongst the leaving crowd.
"Well, that was quite the powder keg back there," commented Gladys, sauntering into the house behind an irate Jughead. She plopped herself down on the couch, swinging an arm over Jellybean. FP ushered an uncomfortable Charles into the living room and shut the door behind him.
Jughead rolled his eyes and threw himself down in an armchair.
"JB, head upstairs, you don't need to hear all of this." FP motioned toward the staircase.
Jellybean crossed her arms and turned to Gladys, then she looked back at FP with a stubborn frown. "You said we were all going to talk. I'm part of this family." Gladys smiled at FP.
FP sighed and stood with his hands on his hips in the middle of the room. "Fine. I guess I did say that." He turned to Jughead, "What was that back there, Jughead? I thought everything was fine between you three?"
"I thought so too, but that was before Veronica and Archie decided to withhold information from me after making a promise."
"But they had good reasoning. Veronica said that Hiram isn't connected to Betty! She was just making a decision to keep part of her personal life just that – personal."
Jughead glared up at his dad, pushing aside a falling piece of hair. "But Hiram is still connected to Chic, which still makes him a connection to Betty."
FP threw up his hands, "Jug! Listen to yourself! Why do you still insist on keeping all the cards on the table when you know that some won't win you the hand? We are trying to narrow the investigation."
"But we still don't know anything, Dad! We pretty much have nothing! I have to stay suspicious. It may be the only thing that brings Betty back."
"My donation might help with that," Gladys added. FP and Jughead both glared at her.
"Just like your suspicion of me?" Charles piped up. He was leaning against one of the doorposts, watching intently. His shoulders were tense and upright.
Jughead cocked his head. "What?"
"Just like how your suspicion of me is somehow helping Betty?" Charles repeated. "I knew you didn't trust me even before the security footage incident."
Jughead stared down at his feet. "Guess my cover's blown."
"It was blown before you even got to the Sisters." He managed a small smile. "But in all seriousness, remaining wary and suspicious of everyone doesn't help in these situations. Maybe you've been able to solve things that way before, but right now, all I've seen it do is tear you apart."
"Well good thing no one asked you," Gladys retorted back, raising a hand toward Jughead as he opened his mouth. "Why are you here, anyway?"
"Gladys, he's an FBI agent. He's part of the team investigating The Farm," FP said, looking directly at Gladys.
"And the whole, 'I'm FP's son' part?" Gladys asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.
"That's true, too," FP answered, taking his turn to stare down at his feet.
"Guess that makes you my step-mom," Charles goaded, stepping further into the living room.
"Guess that makes you a bastard, Charles Smith," Gladys hissed back, venom on her tongue.
"Uhh, maybe I don't need to be here for this," Jellybean chimed in, rising from the couch. Jughead stood, too.
"Stop it, Gladys! We'll discuss that later. Right now, maybe the kids should head upstairs." Jellybean and Jughead, and Charles, all headed to the stairs. "Eh, not you, Charles."
Charles turned back around and shrugged. "Worth a shot."
"And Jughead," FP called. Jughead swung his head towards his father. "What Charles said is true. I think you may need to back off the investigation for now." Jughead's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to argue, but FP interjected. "No, no arguments with this one. I asked you to clear your head all those days ago, and I don't think you ever did. Seriously, take an actual break from this and let the station do its job."
Jughead grimaced and trudged up the stairs loudly. When he reached the doorway to his bedroom, he stopped. His gaze wandered over the dark silhouettes of the furniture lining the walls and landed on the window. Through the glass was the still-flickering streetlight. He let that light flood his vision and take over his mind, its flashing seeping into the corners of his confused and battered thoughts. And then it suddenly stopped, only a faint wisp of dying light remaining in the glass case. And Jughead dropped to his knees, letting out a silent, strangled scream.
Archie tramped through his front door, throwing his guitar case down and collapsing on the couch. Veronica padded behind him and sat next to him.
Suddenly they heard the lock to the front door click and both stood tentatively as the door creaked open.
"Mom!" Archie exclaimed as Mary Andrews walked into the foyer.
"Archie!" She wrapped her son in a tight embrace. "Oh, I'm so sorry I had to leave you alone with everything that's been going on, there's just some paperwork that has to be done in person. I tried to get back in time for the rally, but my flight was delayed." Mary pulled away and rubbed Archie's arm.
"It's okay, Mrs. Andrews, it might be a good thing you missed it. It kind of…blew up at the end," Veronica said, walking into the foyer.
Mary looked at her son.
"We kind of got in a pretty heated fight with Jughead." Archie rubbed his neck and headed back to the couch. "He pretty much stepped into it, though. We've been focusing so much on keeping him steady, that, well, we've been ignoring our own feelings and they all just kind of came out tonight."
"It didn't help that Gladys Jones showed up out of nowhere and my Dad donated money out of the blue to the cause," Veronica scoffed.
Mary looked between the two, bewilderment on her face. "Okay, you two really need to catch me up."
"I will, Mom, but, not tonight. I'm pretty wiped. I think I need to sleep everything off."
Veronica nodded. "Me too. I'm going to head home. Archie, maybe we do need to focus on some of our own issues first. See you at school. And so nice to see you again, Mrs. Andrews."
"You too, Veronica! Have a good night." Mary called as Veronica headed out the door. Once they heard Veronica's car pull away, Mary turned to Archie, who really did look worn out.
"A lot going on all at once, huh, kid?"
"Too much." Archie leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. "But, I'm really glad you're here. I just…I just need someone. I really wish Dad were here." Archie pulled himself closer to his mom, dropping his head on her lap.
She frowned and rubbed his shoulder. "I know, Archie. I know. I miss him too."
The two sat there in silence for a few minutes. Tears were rolling down Archie's face as Mary continued to stroke his shoulder.
"You shouldn't have to be caught up in so much at this age," Mary broke the silence. "I'm so sorry, Archie. How about you take a few days to rest, hmm? Have you done much real resting lately?"
Archie straightened himself up. "No, I don't think any of us have. I mean, I think we've all got it in our heads that if Betty can't rest, we shouldn't either." His heart began twisting again.
Mary frowned. "I know you want to do everything you can for her, but the best thing you can do right now is to rest and calm down from everything going on. A little bit of clarity can go a long way."
Archie nodded and rose from the couch. He headed toward the staircase. "Do you want to see the Community Center, soon? You haven't seen it since it opened."
"Of course, Archie! I would love to see the new Andrews Community Center." She beamed.
"Cool. We're having a Halloween party there in a few days, I'll take you then." He started scaling the stairs toward his bedroom, then quickly turned around and wrapped Mary in another tight hug. "I'm really glad you're back, Mom."
Jughead sat on the edge of his bed. Jellybean had gone to bed, and he heard the door open some time ago, signaling that Charles had finally been relieved of the impromptu family talk, and most of the house had grown quiet.
But there was still a light on downstairs, its faint glow trickling up the open staircase. Jughead quietly tiptoed down the first flight of steps and stood on the landing, listening, just out of sight of his parents.
"I told you earlier that I was trying to come back," he could hear Gladys saying. "I wanted to come back, for JB and Jughead!"
"I know, I know," FP said. Both of them were talking quietly, but Jughead could still hear the raised tension in their voices. "And I appreciate the donation to the police station, I really do but, you should have given us a warning instead of just showing up."
"Why? So you could hide away your surprise son?" Gladys jeered. "How long have you known?"
FP sighed. "Since the end of last school year. He showed up right after The Farm high-tailed it out of Riverdale."
"You've known that long?" Gladys hissed. "Why wouldn't you tell me?"
"Gladys, I didn't even know he was alive. It took me a while to process it myself. And then we started working together on The Farm's case, and I just kind of lost track of everything."
The room below had grown silent and Jughead shifted his weight between his feet, leaning in closer.
"Is that the only reason?" Gladys eventually asked. "I mean, seeing him and pushing to work on a case to find The Farm when you were barely involved with it while they were still here? Answer me honestly, FP. Do you still have a thing for Alice?"
Jughead peeked around the corner. FP and Gladys were sitting across from each other in the living room, a small fire crackling in the fireplace between them. The orange light danced across both of their solemn faces as they stared at each other. FP let out a long sigh and cast his eyes toward the floor.
Gladys bobbed her head. "I get it. Distance makes the heart grow fonder."
Jughead leaned back into the shadows and pressed his weight against the banister. He curled his fists together and stared at the moon that was shining through the small window on the landing, swallowing down a lump in his throat.
"You can have the bed," FP said quietly, "I'll sleep on the couch tonight."
A shuffling came from the living room and Jughead slowly crept back up the stairs. He sighed; some things never change.
Nothing had changed. Three days had passed and nothing had changed.
After that night, Betty had been led back into the cabin and guarded by the two Farm creeps while Edgar had installed a new lock. And then they had just left. Without a word.
He left the matches, he left the plates, and he left her with her ripped-up bed. Food still came. She had a feeling that Edgar was almost pleased that she now knew she was surrounded, proud at his control, and that the fear was enough to keep Betty from attempting another escape.
And he was right. No one knew where she was. There was no one coming. She wasn't just in another state but in another country. It was useless to try to run again while out here.
So Betty sat and waited. She didn't know what else to do.
She sat on the floor, leaning up against the bed, staring at the FBI badge she held in one hand, the wood chip in her other.
There was a tension pulling at her, a formless anxiety hanging in her like a shadow at the edge of her sight. She could feel something pressing inside, like water pushing up against a growing fissure in a concrete wall, and she wondered when and how the dam would break. If it would be Edgar, or if it would be her. And the water was beckoning.
Betty lifted herself to her feet and pushed the badge into her jacket pocket. She dropped the pick onto the nightstand and grabbed the blanket, wrapping it around herself as she lay down on the bed, her body sinking down into the indent above the ripped cavity. She groaned and rolled over, arching her body diagonally on the bed to avoid the uncomfortable dip.
Betty closed her eyes and tucked herself deeper into the blanket, hoping to find some much-needed sleep under the protection of the shimmering daylight.
The mighty hunters, bruised and battered by their quest, now found themselves at each other's throats, and I found myself in a self-inflicted banishment. The players were divided, the board in disarray, and something told me this was all a deliberate part of the game. The game of shadows that we were so enslaved to, yet still so clueless toward, despite how long we had been playing. The ouroboros was slithering its way out of the shadows, a cold laugh escaping its dripping lips as we ironically chased our own tails.
Jughead sat at the kitchen counter in his pajamas, his hair messy and tousled. A steaming mug of coffee sat next to his open laptop. Warm morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen and living room windows, bathing Jughead in a conjunction of golden beams. He lifted his fingers from the keyboard and drank in the warmth.
Just then, FP groaned and shifted upward on the couch, his messy hair hanging in front of his face, matching Jughead's. He let out a large yawn and rubbed his eyes as he slinked into the kitchen.
"Morning, sunshine," Jughead murmured as his father fumbled with the coffee maker.
FP pushed his hair back and grunted in response.
Jughead stared back down at his laptop, but couldn't help but notice how groggy his father was. He thought he would take advantage of that.
"Hey Dad, can I stay home from school today?"
FP stared back with a glossy look on his face and brought his mug to his lips, giving Jughead a small nod and another grunt.
Jughead smirked. So far so good.
"Listen, since you're out on patrol late tonight, I was thinking that I could, you know, take over some of your other responsibilities, like helping out with Betty's case."
"Sure," FP said through another stifling yawn. Jughead smiled and took a swig of his own coffee.
The gloss over FP's eyes suddenly evaporated and he placed his mug sharply on the counter. "Wait, no! Boy, stop with the funny business."
"Hey, see, right there! You acknowledged I'm making jokes again. Isn't that progress enough?" Jughead argued. "We just talked about working together, why rescind that so quickly?"
"I'm not going back on what I said, we should be working together. But we both have to be in the right headspace. And you need to start trusting the officers to do their job, I can't keep letting you and the others take charge."
"Ah, so its' just peer pressure from the station keeping me away. Awesome. How high school of you," Jughead snorted.
"No," FP walked over and stood over him. "Like I said, personal and professional. I'm really working to draw that line. I'm not leaving you in the dark, but I need to make sure my son is safe, and that means from himself, too."
Jughead snapped his head up and stared at his dad. FP's face was serious, but also gentle. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Jug, if you could see yourself, you would see that you really are tearing yourself up. I need you to be healthy, son. I need you to take care of yourself. If you can't help yourself, then you can't help Betty."
Jughead balked and lowered his eyes. How was spending time on himself supposed to help Betty? She had been at the mercy of her kidnapper for two weeks now, how was more time supposed to help? But – another thought crossing his mind – what if his impulsiveness was what was holding the investigation back? Everyone having to temper themselves and humor his erratic theories.
"Besides," FP cut through his wandering thoughts, "The hotline we set up is already getting hits."
Jughead perked up.
"So far just things we already know," FP raised a hand, "But it means it's working. You should really thank Archie and Veronica for setting up that rally." FP raised an eyebrow and finished off his coffee.
Jughead snorted. "Once they apologize."
FP sighed and walked back into the living room. "Well, then definitely still no police time for you. And since I work tonight, that means you'll have plenty of time to hand out candy."
He smiled and turned away from Jughead. "What a night to have a graveyard shift."
Jughead sighed and turned back to his laptop. "Wonderful," he grumbled.
Although his words were offhand, my dad was right - what a night was coming, because for every bright morning there came a dark night. And tonight we would find ourselves veiled under the blackest of nights - Halloween. A night where spirits roamed freely over the land and when nightmares themselves seemed to abandon the immaterial. And, call me superstitious, but I felt a bad moon arising.
Black and orange decorations lined the front doors of the community center as Archie and Mary Andrews strolled inside. They were immediately greeted by a crowd of families running around in Halloween costumes. Archie hastily side-stepped out of the way of two small witches chasing each other, accidentally running into a fake spider-web hanging against the wall in the process. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the stringy material, and and noticed Mad Dog laughing at him from across the room.
"What are you laughing at?" Archie jabbed, combing a fluffy strand out of his hair as he walked up to the candy table Mad Dog was manning. He looked at the face paint covering his friends' face and noticed makeshift claws on his hands. "What are you supposed to be?"
Mad Dog grinned a toothy snarl and curled his hands in what Archie thought was supposed to be a menacing pose. "Dude, I'm a werewolf!"
"Really?" Archie sniggered. "A little on the nose, don't you think?" he continued to jest, smacking his friend on the arm.
"Hey! Werewolves are cool," Mad Dog fired back. He gave Archie a judgmental glance, looking him up and down. "Didn't you dress up?"
Archie pulled back his jacket, revealing a shirt emblazoned with a lightning bolt.
"Oh, nice! Kid Flash!"
Archie frowned. "No, man. The Flash!"
"But the red hair! You'd be a perfect Wally West." Mad Dog smiled at Archie's look of irritation.
"Well, it sure is good seeing the two of you making jabs at each other outside of a boxing ring!" Mary came up behind Archie. "And smiling."
"Mrs. Andrews! It's so nice to see you!" Mad Dog beamed, sliding around the table to give her a hug.
"You too, Mad Dog. Archie's finally showing me around, now that I'm back in Riverdale."
"Well, as you can see, we're pretty packed tonight. A lot of kids don't have the safest trick-or-treating areas or have anyone to take them, so we brought the fun to them! We've got some games starting up soon, and food and drinks are in the student lounge. Have fun!" Mad Dog gave them a fanged grin.
"Thanks, I'm sure we'll join in the festivities soon, but Archie, I want to see the new space first!"
"For sure. See you later, Mad Dog!" Archie called as he began to usher his mom away from the main hall.
"And if you happen to see a Spider-Man around, tell him his brother wants to try him at bobbing for apples!"
Archie laughed. "You got it!" He steered his mom away and toward the gym. "Hey, Mr. Daniels!" He called, seeing the maintenance worker standing against a wall. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm on call for another job, but wanted to stop by. Thought you may need some help cleaning up after tonight." Mr. Daniels grabbed his ball cap, tipping it toward the gym, at the kids - and candy - scattered around the hall.
"Ah, sounds good! Thanks for the help!" Archie waved at him as he and his mom continued to walk. "Have a good night!"
"Well, you certainly seem more cheery today!" Mary said, walking alongside Archie as they toured.
Archie nodded. "It's hard to be upset here. Not when you can see so much joy in all those kids' eyes. I know I'm at least doing something right." His eyes dropped and he slipped his hands into his pockets.
Mary grabbed his arm. "Hey, you can only do so much right now. Jughead has to come to that conclusion himself. As long as you do your part, that's all you can do." They rounded into the office and Mary gasped. "Oh, Archie, look at this! This is so much nicer than when I was last here."
Archie gave a small smile. He and Jughead had avoided each other for the last three days of school. Just today, they had been heading down the hall toward each other and Jughead had walked directly into a crowd of Bulldogs and Vixens just so he could avoid eye contact. But Archie was the one waiting for an apology this time instead of trying to pander to Jughead's temper.
"Archie," He looked over at his mom, pulling him out of his head. Mary was looking at him with a smile but sad eyes. "He'd be so proud of you."
Archie felt a familiar lump rise in his throat. "You think so?"
"I know so." Mary wrapped her son in a hug.
Crash! Their moment was interrupted by shattering glass and a heavy thud. Archie jumped and looked down, nearly tripping over what skidded near his shoes.
Another brick.
Archie whipped his eyes toward the broken window and saw a flash of movement. He sprinted out of the office, his mom faintly calling after him. Archie barreled out of the side door and looked wildly around the dark parking lot. Someone in a dark sweatshirt was running away from the center.
"Hey!" Archie yelled, falling in step behind them. "Stop!"
Archie caught up easily and was ready to tackle them when he noticed they were much smaller than him. Instead, he grabbed their arm and spun them around, knocking off their hood. Archie took a small step back. It was just a kid.
"Why did you throw that brick?" Archie gasped, pulling in a breath. The kid looked terrified. His face was turned up in a pained wince and Archie pulled his hand away, realizing he had been squeezing the kids' arm too hard. He swallowed and asked again, "Did you throw the brick?"
The kid scrunched up his face and nodded slowly. Archie knit his brow and frowned. After all this time, it really was just a punk kid. He had spent so much time thinking it was deeper, more personal. He swallowed. Now he realized how Jughead had been feeling.
Archie crouched down. "Hey, hey," he soothed, "I'm-I'm not mad. I just want to know why."
"It's not fair, I don't want to see all this," he motioned his head toward the center, "not when my mom is gone and my dad doesn't care about me."
Archie's heart sank. He had to have been no more than twelve, and it looked like he was trying not to cry - like he didn't want to cry in front of someone. "What's your name?"
The boy sniffled. "TJ."
"Well, TJ, you said your mom is gone? My dad is gone." TJ looked up into Archie's eyes. Archie gave him a sympathetic smile. "It's cold out here, do you want to come inside? We have hot chocolate."
TJ looked around warily. "Are-are you sure?"
Archie nodded. "I'm sure, I just want to talk some more."
TJ's eyes grew wide. "You won't tell my dad, will you? About the window?"
Archie shook his head. "No, I won't tell your dad. Come on," Archie stood up and held a hand out to TJ. "Come and meet my Mom."
"Trick or treat!"
"Aww, look at you! Such a cute ghost," Toni cooed as she passed candy to the young trick-or-treater. "Have a Happy Halloween!"
The little ghost ran off and Toni closed the door to Thistle House, dropping the candy bowl back on the side table next to the door. She groaned and sauntered back to the living room. "Hopefully that's the last one. Who knew so many kids would face Riverdale's equivalent of a haunted house just for an extra piece of candy?"
Cheryl smiled as Toni lowered herself onto the couch. "Well, TT, tonight is the night to be daring. A haunted house fits right in." She took one of Toni's hands. "But now that it's getting late, I think it's time Harley and Ivy do some trick-or-treating of their own." She grinned as she twisted one of Toni's pigtails in her other hand.
Toni grinned back, "I'd like that," she leaned in for a kiss, "but first, can we talk about why you've been so distant lately?"
Cheryl pulled away. "What do you mean?"
Toni rolled her eyes and adjusted her jacket. "Come on, Cheryl, don't think I haven't noticed you disappearing every now and then."
"I'm just really worked up over everything with Betty. I've been trying to put more time into helping with that," Cheryl responded.
"Cheryl, I know that's part of it, but it almost feels like you've been trying to avoid me. I mean when I asked you about this the other day, you went running off to 'help' with the rally." Toni pouted her lip and looked at her girlfriend with concern. "I thought we cleared all the skeletons out of the closet, what's going on? You have a body in there now?"
Cheryl bit her lip and looked away. Toni's eyes widened and she sprang up from the couch. "Cheryl! I was joking!"
Cheryl pulled herself off the couch as well, her green dress flowing. "TT, it's not what it sounds like-,"
"Having a body in your closet? That sounds pretty straightforward to me!" Toni yelled as she put her hands to her head.
"Well, actually it's in the basement," Cheryl added. Toni whipped her head around.
"Who is it?" Toni whispered, "Oh my god, did you kill someone? It's not your mom, is it?" Toni began to frantically pace around the room. "Oh my god, I'm dating Norman Bates."
"No! I didn't kill anyone." Cheryl rushed over to Toni and grabbed her shoulders. "Please hear me out." She looked pleadingly into Toni's eyes. "It's JJ."
Toni gaped at her girlfriend.
"Please say something," Cheryl begged.
Toni kept staring at Cheryl. Finally, she answered, "We're having a funeral."
"What?" Cheryl asked, confused.
"Didn't you say that Edgar was using Jason to manipulate you? Well, obviously you never got the closure you needed. We're having a funeral."
"You-you understand?" Cheryl wrung her hands.
"No, not really. You've obviously got some issues." Toni moved toward Cheryl. "But I also fell under Edgar's spell, so I guess I've still got issues, too."
Cheryl smiled through watery eyes. "We need to invite Kevin."
Toni pulled away. "What?"
"That boy's got some issues, too. Maybe this will help him."
Toni raised an eyebrow but shook it away. "Okay, but regardless, the body has got to go."
Demons cackled in the dark and the monsters were coming out to play in Riverdale. With all the hunters sidelined, there was one beast I desperately hoped stayed in its' murky cave, but the dark mirth of midnight was upon us and it's grip wouldn't break until the golden blade of sunrise claimed the horizon. So all I could do was pray that the night would pass quickly and quietly for our friend.
Betty awoke to the sound of a low, muffled rumble, and her eyes were greeted by a coarse blackness. As her cognizance increased, she thought she could just make out a faint light above her, as small golden flashes intermittently streamed through the tight knit of the fabric covering her face. She tried to speak but instead sucked in a halted breath, nearly choking as soft fabric pulled into her mouth.
A gag.
A cold wave shot down her body and she had to focus on how she pulled in her next few breaths. Something underneath her gave another pitch and her knees were sent forward into something soft. She wiggled her arms and a scratchy resistance at her wrists told her they were tied again. She reached down to feel what she was laying on and as she brushed her fingers over the soft material, another jolt knocked her around. Betty closed her eyes, trying to slow her breathing even more than she already was, and listened to the faint noises around her, slowly starting to realize what was going on.
Betty was lying sideways in the backseat of a car, a hood once again over her head.
She let out a soft whimper and rolled, bringing her knees up so she had enough room to lay on her back.
"Shhh," Edgar hushed from somewhere in front of her, " I hope you had a good rest. We're almost there."
He was still aberrantly calm and that was scaring Betty more than if he had been mad.
She felt the car turn and the tires skid as they rolled over what sounded like gravel. The bobbing light she had been watching had vanished and Betty was left in darkness again. Her eyes flitted around, trying to focus on something, anything, concrete to stop her stomach from pitching at the disorienting motion.
Eventually, the car rolled to a stop, and Betty heard a car door open and then slam. For a few seconds, she was left alone in the car and she couldn't hear anything. She held her breath, but then another door opened and cold air rushed around her. Two hands grabbed her around the shoulders and tugged, pulling her roughly out into the open air.
"Just walk forward, let me guide you," Edgar's muffled voice softly coached as he helped her to her feet. He pushed against her back and shoulders, nudging her forward across terrain she couldn't see. Betty gingerly took a step forward and found spongy grass beneath her shoes. She continued to be stumble-pushed forward, crossing what felt to be a large expanse of a grassy field, but if was hard to tell. Even with her eyes open, it was still uncomfortably dark under the hood, and her uneasy breathing and restrained hands were adding to her complete lack of proper equilibrium.
"Just a few more steps. That's it. Now stop." Edgar's grip stiffened and he stopped after a minute or so, causing Betty to stagger against the sudden change in momentum.
"Any guesses as to where we are this time?"
Betty grumbled indignantly through the gag.
"Oh, yes. So sorry, but I had to take further precautions after your little incident." He was using apologetic language, but she could almost hear the smile playing across his face. "Let me set the scene for you; on our last excursion, we found ourselves in a place of finality and choice, a place of death and departure. Now we revisit a place of subjection and fear, a place of escaped death and rebirth." She could hear another lurid smile creeping across his lips.
The hood was finally yanked away and Betty looked around. An orange moon hung in the sky, sending moonbeams slicing through the swirling fog, casting an eidolic glow through the gnarled branches of the giant tree before them. Betty's face and shoulders tensed up as her eyes started to drift to the ground, but she quickly shut them.
"Come on, Betty, open your eyes."
She didn't. She knew what was there and she didn't want to see it.
"Betty." Edgar's voice was harder as he grabbed her face and shifted it toward the ground. "Look."
She hesitantly obeyed, her eyes starting to glisten. In front of them was a pile of dirt with a shovel sticking up from it, and next to that a large, freshly-dug pit with a wooden casket sitting open at the bottom.
"According to Penelope, your father was very proud of this moment," Edgar crooned, walking to the edge of the pit and looking in. "He wasn't even there to see it through himself though," he scoffed. "He had a lot of pride for being such a coward."
He turned back toward Betty. "You've had quite a few brushes with death, a recurring threat in your journey-," Edgar raised his hands, "something even I was made a vessel for, which tells me that you've been heading for a rebirth this whole time."
Betty shook her head and sputtered through her gag. This wasn't happening. She thought she was rid of this night, but here she was again, the mental wound ripping open as wide as the gaping casket before her. Here was the first time a gun had been held to her head, the terrible prospect of death inches from her face as she tearfully shut Archie in the trap laid for both of them. Although it hadn't actually been her dad that night but an under-duress Svenson, the later knowledge that her father had been puppet mastering the entire encounter had added a nauseating layer to the memory.
"Already once before holding the resonance of a fateful night, this spot becomes a stage for the liminal once more. A host for sin and sanctity to play out their perpetual battle through time, again and again, locked in a singular moment."
He drew in a deep breath and knelt down, grabbing a handful of dirt and letting it run between his fingers, watching it fall as if staring at the sands of time itself.
As Edgar became preoccupied with his own words, Betty shuffled as quietly toward the large pile of dirt.
"And here you really did find yourself in the hands of a demon, one who was literally following you and talking in your ear, tempting darkness to rise and fester. And all in the name of purifying sin, although we both know he was the true sinner."
Betty wrapped her hands as best she could around the handle of the shovel and pulled, slowly and silently, until she had an awkward but tight grip on a raised shovel. Edgar hadn't noticed; he was still engrossed in his fanatical monologue to the pit. She quietly tiptoed toward him.
"And so the sins of the father became the secrets of the daughter."
Betty froze, her pulse quickening. She was trying not to listen, but those words felt like a cold knife twisting in her chest.
"And now the secrets become the seeds, seeds of new life, of rebirth – not by the water, not by the fire, but by the earth. Gritty and visceral. The burden of his actions, the secrets and pain you've had to carry because of him - it's time for them to finally be put to rest."
Edgar slowly began rising to his feet, and Betty's heart thumped as she looked between his back and the coffin.
It was now or never.
With a ragged grunt, Betty swung the shovel as hard as she could.
Wham!
Edgar crumpled forward, pitching into the pit and straight into the casket. Betty turned and ran, just ran as hard as she could toward her town.
She didn't dare look behind her. She knew she didn't have much time, and with her restraints and waning strength, she wouldn't make it very far either. But she had to try. Pickens Park wasn't terribly far from downtown, but it was still remote enough – and late enough – that nobody was probably around.
Still, she reached up and shifted the gag out of her mouth. Edgar's hubris toward her wrist restraints may just give her a fighting chance. "Help! Someone help!" she tried screaming, but her throat was sore and her mouth dry from the continued neglect, and her screams came out at a lower and more cracked volume than she had hoped.
Her calls for help echoed into the spectral fog that encircled the park, the cries desperate for an answer to ring back through the cold night. But nothing came. Betty could feel the phantom grip returning to her chest, but she kept running - there was still one last play to try. Betty's gait shifted to an awkward trot as she reached her entwined hands into her pocket, pulling out the FBI badge - her final, desperate breadcrumb.
She screamed once more, calling out into the night, hoping it wasn't as empty as it seemed. But then suddenly the ground and sky switched places as a weight crashed into her back, the wind getting knocked out of her as she hit the ground hard, her chin slamming against the grass.
Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as a voice hissed in her ear.
"That was a mistake."
Edgar yanked her by her jacket's hood and a startled wheeze escaped from her lips. She hastily dropped the badge in the grass before Edgar could notice, and watched the blue and white card slide out of view as she was jerked backward and flipped, forced to stare up into Edgar's savage face.
His cheeks and forehead were smeared with dirt and there was a small spot of blood on his collar, yet Betty barely noticed; she was completely petrified by his eyes. The malice she had seen a few days earlier was now entirely wild and free, glaring down at her with primal rage.
"I try to help, I take care of you, and you continue to be ungrateful!" Edgar pulled her up by an arm and started half-carrying, half-dragging her back toward the grave. His eyes darted around wildly as if expecting someone to appear, but they were still agonizingly alone, surrounded only by a thick curtain of fog, the only eye on them being the unblinking moon hanging in a sea of black above. "You can't run, Betty! How many times do I have to tell you, you can't run!"
Betty winced as she was dragged in the gruff position, and she tried to find footing but her legs kept knocking into Edgar as he hastened over the dewy grass. "Edgar, please…I'm sorry, please stop…" she pleaded, a sickening cavity growing in her stomach. "Please…"
Edgar shoved the gag back into her mouth and stayed eerily silent as they approached the pit. Betty braced herself as she was thrown down, her left shoulder erupting into pain as she crashed against the wood. She rolled over and felt a dribble of blood run down her chin. She looked up at the menacing silhouette above her, just barely etched against the black night, and caught a glimpse of feral blue as the lid to the coffin shut with a definitive thud.
It was quiet. The quiet in the park had still been marked by leaf rustles and cicada chirps, but this - this quiet was suffocating. Betty pulled in panicked breaths, her eyes once again frantically searching for something to concentrate on. And then a cold scraping from above pierced the night.
An abrupt volley of cold, wet earth hit the lid, portions of it sifting through the slits in the coffin and landing on her legs. Betty flinched and felt her chest tighten even more. She reached up toward the gag and tried to pull it away, but there wasn't enough room to get her hands all the way to her face. Panic wracked through her body as another pile landed on her neck.
"This was going to be a slow and meticulous experience, forcing you to feel the agony and despair of your little friend as you buried him alive, but now you've upset me," Edgar hissed from above. Chnnkk, Ffffpp. Another shovelful of dirt tumbled over the coffin, the thump on the lid causing Betty to flinch a second time. "This is what you always do. You rush into things, thinking you're in control and know what you're doing. But you don't. And you only end up making things worse and hurting people, Betty."
She coughed and whimpered lowly as more dirt came crashing down around her. Her face was already streaked with dirt and blood and now her tears were smearing into the grimy mix. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out what was happening, even if that meant blocking out the small beams of broken moonlight she could see through the ragged slits of her grave. Betty didn't – couldn't - watch the earthy rainfall coming down on her. She was having trouble breathing; she was sucking the rag raw and a few pieces of dirt were tickling her nose.
Chnkk. Ffffpp. Another cascade of earth.
"And now-," Edgar was speaking in a low, broken growl, talking through agitated grunts, "-instead of being buried under your father's mistakes, you're buried under your own. And your regrets, your faults - all those lives, all those deaths you're responsible for Betty, I want you to feel them."
Chnkkk. Ffffpp.
"All the pain you've caused."
Chnkk. Ffffpp.
"All the agony and death that follows you."
Chnkkk. Ffffpp.
"Feel the weight, feel it crashing down on you."
Chnkkk. Ffffpp.
"As it smothers, as it takes over everything."
Chnkk Ffffpp.
Another pile tumbled down and rattled the box, dust and dirt trickling around Betty's face. She shook feverishly, trying to get the debris away from her mouth and nose. She was covered in dark earth. Her shoulder screamed. Her mind wasn't working. Her stomach was twisting and her lungs were on fire.
Between her spiked breaths and the pounding in her chest, Betty hadn't noticed that the onslaught of dirt had stopped, and the shovel above silent. The lid creaked open and the chilly night air swirled against the stifling must of the grave. Betty remained in the coffin, shaking, eyes shut tight, as impeded breaths jammed against her ribs.
"Open your eyes, Betty."
His words bounced hollowly in her head. She felt paralyzed, just lying there sniveling and quivering.
"Betty, look at me."
Betty slowly opened her trembling eyelids. Edgar was crouched at the very edge of the pit, covered in dirt and grime, with something that could only be described as a maddening look of mirth on his face.
"Good." He reached down and dragged Betty up out of the casket. She screamed silently as her shoulder was jerked and her legs knocked against the earth wall until she was sprawled on the ground in front of Edgar.
"A baptism of the earth. Battling what's underneath by going underneath." His voice was calmer, returning to its usual slow cadence.
She quickly pulled away her gag and hunched forward, heaving onto the grass. Violent tremors quaked up and down her body.
"Every gasp for breath, every feeble cry and push against the grave to emerge free in this new air – that's what everyone who's died because of your foolish behavior has felt, except they didn't get a second chance. But now, you get reborn out of their remembered anguish and terror."
Betty sucked in a few shallow breaths, trying to swallow back the bile that was continuing to rise in her throat. Her whole inside felt hollow and gnawed, a dreadful weight pulling at her now empty gut. She slumped over on the grass, silent convulsions sapping any last bit of adrenaline-induced energy from her bones.
She was wrong - mad Edgar scared her much, much more than calm Edgar.
Edgar pulled a needle out of his pocket. "Clean yourself up when we get back," he chirped, thrusting it into Betty's neck without breaking his unblinking stare with her.
"Oh, and Betty - Happy Halloween."
FP drove slowly through the foggy streets of Riverdale. The dashboard light cast an orange glow over his face as the faint chatter from the police scanner hummed through the dark car, but it was nothing more than white noise to him.
The puzzle pieces he had felt loosening were now toppling. Gladys always had a sense of dramatic timing, and this one might have been her worst entrance yet. After their initial conversation, they had tried avoiding each other over the last several days, coming in and out of the house at separate times, taking turns running one of the kids to or from school in the name of "mother or father time," but FP knew that another talk was inevitable. And Gladys' question managed to ring front and center in his head over the past few days.
He had wanted Gladys to come back, he really did, but he now realized it was more for Jughead and Jellybean's sake. He couldn't deny what was really growing in his heart. Alice's departure with The Farm had reawakened a certain yearning, one that he hadn't really paid attention to during the events of the past year, but one that had only grown when Charles had arrived.
A car swung abruptly out in front of him from one of the gravel paths from the park and FP slammed on the brake. He watched the car drive away and grumbled to himself before resuming driving. It didn't feel worth it to pull over a few teenagers trying to have a little fun on Halloween night. Not with everything else going on.
He sighed to himself; Jughead was being as stubborn as ever. He really couldn't blame the teen – he didn't know what kind of time they had left in Betty's case, or - he didn't want to think about it, but he didn't know if there even was time left in the case. But he couldn't tell Jughead that. But he also couldn't watch his son ignore his own needs. Not this time.
Abduction cases usually didn't offer much sand in the hourglass to begin with, and two weeks had already passed. Though, the initial scavenger hunt, despite its twisted nature, did give FP probable cause to believe that the abductors' intent was to keep Betty alive. Not that that was exactly a happy thought per se, but it was at least something promising about the situation.
He yawned and shook his head before glancing down at the dashboard. 4:00 am. He sighed and turned the car, deciding a stop in at Pop's was necessary if he was going to make it through the rest of the night. The night had been slow; thankfully it seemed that this Halloween in Riverdale had come and gone relatively quietly.
He pulled the cruiser into the empty parking lot and stretched as he got out of the car. "Hey, Pop," he called, stepping into the sleepy diner.
"You got stuck with the late shift tonight too, huh, FP?" Pop grinned from behind the counter. "Coffee?"
"Please." FP nestled into one of the booths toward the back of the empty diner. "Has it been a slow night for you? It's been surprisingly quiet out there tonight."
"Just a few families stopping in after trick-or-treating." Pop walked over and placed a cup of coffee in front of FP. "Other than that, it's been quiet for me, too." He hovered over the table. "How's Jughead holding up? Having Betty gone? The poor boy must be unraveling. I haven't seen him in here for a while. Come to think of it, I haven't seen any of those kids in here lately."
"FP sighed, "He's not doing so great, but I'm trying to get him back in fighting spirits. And he and the others aren't exactly speaking right now."
Pop frowned. "Shame, I miss those kids. Tell them to try to stop by. I've seen them make up over a milkshake and fries on more than one occasion."
"I'll do that, Pop," FP yawned again. "You better just leave that whole pot here."
Pop chuckled and placed the coffee pot on the table before he walked away. FP yawned and leaned back, his tired mind swirling between thoughts of Alice and Jughead.
xxx
"10-39. Can Sheriff Jones please come to the radio, 10-39."
A crackly voice jerked FP awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. He was still sitting in Pop's, but the sun was rising outside and a few people were now scattered throughout the diner.
"Crap," He looked at his watch. 6:07 am. He unclipped his radio and answered. "Go for sheriff."
"Someone called in about suspicious activity over at Pickens Park. Are you available to check it out?"
"10-4. I'm just a few blocks from there. I'm on my way." FP clipped his radio back to his belt and scooted out of the booth, dropping a few bills on the table.
"Have a nice nap?" Pop called as FP shuffled out the door.
"It was great. Thanks, Pop. But, seems as though I might have spoken too soon. Maybe the night wasn't as quiet as we thought."
FP climbed into his cruiser and revved the engine back to life in the still morning air.
Betty sat with her knees to her chest underneath the steady stream of the shower. She watched as dirt and blood slowly ran down the tub and swirled into the drain. She hadn't even bothered to take her clothes off, there was no point. The filth from that night clung straight through her clothes and into her bones. There was no washing that off.
The pressure tugged in her chest. Her body was still shaking despite the flow of hot water pouring over her, and her shoulder throbbed. She looked around the small bathroom, her eyes falling on the mirror above the sink. She couldn't see into it, but she shuddered at the thought of what would stare back out if she could.
Betty turned her head and looked down at the river of mud churning in the tub. Her legs quivered and a bubble seemed to burst in her chest. She pressed her head to her knees and let out a deep wail.
The dam had broken.
Author's Notes: Another chapter for you! My work schedule is back to being completely packed (don't go into the field of film production if you value free time. Just kidding, I love it.) But seriously, just expect a few weeks in between each update.
We stepped into some dark night of the soul territory with this one, but it looks like we're finally getting some traction back in Riverdale…
And I was totally going to completely ignore the Hiram and Cheryl having Jason's body plot points from the show, but I thought I'd give myself a challenge and see if I could write myself out of those corners, all while staying within the thematic elements of this story.
As always, I hope you enjoy, and if you so please, drop a review! I have loved reading them all so far!