Thanks so much for all the reviews and thoughts on the last chapter!
Boris Yeltsin: Your wish for Kevin is coming soon, I promise! It's quite pivotal to part of the plot, it just had to have the right timing.
ButtonMashr: I loved the chapter title, too. If I can find any type of wordplay with something, I will ;) So glad you found some humor amongst a chapter that took a very dark(er?) turn. Charles is just doing his thing and has some humorous moments. Thank you for the kind words about the writing! The burial scene was the first thing that came out of me for the last chapter and, despite how solemn it was, has been one of my best scenes in my opinion. *slight nervous laugh at the fact I can write a psychopath so well.* Just kidding, psychological stuff is just super interesting to me.
Ellie: Exploring Edgar and the twisted parts of The Farm has been quite fascinating... and distressing. I have no idea what the show's going to do about it, either. Guess we'll just have to wait and see. Only a week and a half until Season 4 premieres! And I'm so glad you've been enjoying FP and his growth! He has come quite a long way and I am absolutely loving writing him. I'm loving writing just about everyone!
AvidMovieFan, thanks so much for reading and your concern for Betty! I'm concerned for her, too!
Optimistic-Woodland-Pixie: Thanks for jumping in and reading! And for the kind words!
Guest and Guest: Thank you so much for the kind reviews, and I am SO glad this story is reeling you in and keeping you invested. And I have in fact seen the trailer for Season 4, and I'm interested to see where it goes! I just want more teenage stuff, ya know?
Chapter 11 – The Raven
Dew clung to the soft grass in Pickens Park, but its morning stillness was soon disturbed as a line of boots tromped over the ground. Water droplets flung into the air as officers set up a perimeter around the area. Underneath the swirling pink and yellow hues of daybreak sat a large, empty hole in the ground. A few other officers were corralling a small group of spectators while a CSI crouched inside the hole, scraping at the dirt walls. FP was hunched over him on the ground above.
He had been a bit annoyed when he first arrived at the scene; a big hole in a park wasn't exactly remarkable, but it wasn't exactly innocuous either. At first, he had thought it was probably just some Halloween prank – he had seen some teenagers pull out of the park in front of him the night before, after all – but when they had found a few blood splatters, he had begun to feel a pit of his own growing in his stomach.
"Are you able to collect enough for us to get a proper test on those samples?" FP asked.
The CSI shook a small bag with a few swabs inside. "Yeah, I think we should be able to get something out of this. Especially since the lab just got all that new equipment."
FP sighed. The infamous donations had gotten to the station quickly, and shiny new forensics equipment had been wheeled to the station, as well as updated security cameras, materials to update the holding area, and now there was even talk about the possibility of adding a K-9 unit. While he still wrestled with the potential intentions of the benefactors, FP had to admit, he was grateful.
He stood and nodded, helping the CSI out of the hole. "Good. Thanks, Allen. Get those back to the station. I'll do a final sweep of the area, and if I find anything else for you, I'll let you know." Allen the CSI nodded and scurried toward one of the police vans parked in a small, gravel lot nearby.
"Hey, FP! A little help here?"
FP looked over toward the small group of spectators lining the perimeter. Tom Keller was amongst them, talking to an officer and looking rather annoyed.
"Let him through! I called him, he's with me." FP waved to the officer, who then begrudgingly let Tom duck under the police tape. "Sorry, Tom. He's new and apparently doesn't know about the great Tom Keller."
Tom shook his head but smiled. FP smiled back and the two began walking towards the pit. "So, Tom, I called you because I've got a pretty weird scene here, and I've had an odd feeling toward it all morning. I was trying to place my finger on why and then I remembered." They had reached the edge of the pit. Tom crouched down and looked in. "And I was hoping you might be able to quell my fear about that."
Tom took a deep breath and stood up. "I don't know about quelling that fear, FP-," he motioned toward the tree behind the hole, "-I think your instincts were right - this seems to be the exact spot I found Archie and Betty that night. But that was the Black Hood, and Hal is dead."
"Yeah, that's why this weirds me out so much. It's too similar, but it still doesn't make any sense."
Tom crossed his arms and looked at FP. "Nothing was in the pit? It was just empty?"
FP nodded, "Just a big, gaping hole. There were a few dark splotches in the pit, we took a few samples to see what we get. Could be blood."
Tom gave a thoughtful hum and looked around the clearing in the park. FP had hoped he would have gotten a few more details from eyes that had seen this occurrence before, but he guessed Tom was just as thrown as he was.
FP looked around too; the sun had fully risen and was now hanging in a clear sky. The small crowd around the park had mostly dispersed, probably after realizing there was nothing to look at but a hole in the ground.
"FP?" Tom asked, turning his stance back toward him. FP looked over; Tom had a searching look on his face. "Is this the only reason you asked me to come? I mean, you could have looked up all the details to the Black Hood attacks in the case archives."
FP moved his hands down to his hips. "Tom," he began, biting his lip, "how did you know… when did you know you couldn't fix things with your wife?"
Tom relaxed his shoulders and frowned sympathetically. "Her deployment had been so long. Even when we talked, it was like we didn't even know each other anymore. Nothing was grounding us together anymore."
"What about Kevin?"
Tom shook his head. "Of course Kevin was keeping us together. Kevin will always be ours, but our personal, intimate connection felt like it was evaporating. Why do you ask, FP?"
FP studied Tom's face. He figured that was a rhetorical question, but answered anyway. "Gladys is back, and I thought I wanted that. But-,"
"But someone else is in the picture now, too? Someone unexpected?"
FP nodded.
Tom scratched his head and placed his hands on his hips. "Kevin's mother and I were having issues, and then Sierra and I started reconnecting – weirdly enough because of everything that's happened in town - and we realized both of us were sinking. And that's not a good place to base a relationship on, but I did have to ask myself a question – what did my family need? And Sierra had to ask the same."
"And divorce was best...?" FP asked warily.
Tom shot a glance to the ground. "Divorce is never best, but making sure we can take care of our kids is. And Sierra and I could take care of Kevin and Josie better together than with two absent parents. I just wish that we had brought them into the conversation sooner."
FP nodded slowly, his eyes absently roaming the trees behind Tom. "But then, did you still think Sierra was the one? Despite the decision being for Kevin and Josie?"
"Sierra was always the one. We drifted away from each other for a while, went our own ways, but as soon as we reconnected, well... it was like we'd never been apart in the first place. I was home."
FP looked down at the ground, his mind racing. He felt a hand land gently on his shoulder.
"Figure out where home is, FP. That's the best advice I can give you." Tom was smiling as FP looked up. He nodded and patted Tom back on the shoulder. "Well, I'll let you get back to your job. You're doing good, FP."
Tom began walking away, but FP shouted after him, "Do you miss it ever? Law enforcement?"
Tom turned over his shoulder and called back, "Yeah. But I'm actually getting back in the game. In fact, I'm even starting a new job today."
"Oh, congrats! See ya' around, Tom." FP started walking toward his cruiser, his mind nowhere near the crime scene he was currently stepping through. Home. He'd mostly only been thinking about home in terms of Jughead and Jellybean. But now he could see he had some more to think about.
"FP!" Tom's voice echoed over the emptying park. FP turned around; Tom was hovering near the entrance to the footbridge, staring at something on the ground. "Hey, did you invite any of your FBI pals here?"
"No," FP said, knitting his eyebrows and changing course.
"There's a badge over here."
FP reached where Tom was and bent down, picking up a dew-covered piece of blue and white plastic. He stared at it inquisitively, raising an eyebrow. "This looks just like Jughead's..."
He squinted, looking closer at the badge. Some of the letters in "Federal Bureau of Investigation" were scratched out. His heart began to race and he looked back down at the ground, his eyes scurrying over the crushed grass until he spotted a dried dark spot – a dark red spot - a few feet away. His glance then shifted to the pit in the middle of the park, his insides beginning to twist.
"Oh no…" FP shot up and frantically began jogging away from a puzzled Tom. "Thank you, Tom. For everything!" He clutched the badge tight in his hand and bounded toward the small cluster of police vehicles.
"Hey, Allen! Don't leave yet, I've got something else for ya!"
Edgar sat in his large leather chair, turning his burner phone over in his hands. He stared thoughtfully ahead into the orange glow cast by multiple candles positioned around the room. Shadows nestled themselves in the corner of his office, partially engulfing Edgar in their dark wake.
It had been a close call when Betty had somehow found her way out of the cabin. That could have ruined everything, but thankfully he always had a contingency in place, and it had worked favorably. She knew there was nowhere to run. He was in complete control and, despite a second attempted escape, the previous night had hopefully cemented that in her mind.
He had gotten more aggressive than he had planned, but the results were more than he could've asked for; Betty had looked absolutely petrified lying there helpless at the bottom of the coffin.
Edgar placed the phone on his desk and folded his hands in his lap.
But he still had to pace himself if he wanted to see this through properly. Leaving her to herself for another week should do the trick. And then one last trip before leaving her alone to writhe.
He smiled to himself and reached forward, picking up and dropping one of the balls on his Newton's Cradle. What a joy to it was to watch Betty Cooper descend into a broken and powerless heap; she was growing weaker by the day and soon would be too empty to even fight back.
And when he returned at the very end, after guiding his young adversary through forty days of the wild, she would be nothing more than a hollow shell of her former self. And in proper form for any teacher, he would leave her with the one final task – find her way home.
He'd disappear. The Farm would be long gone by then.
She would never make it home by herself, and, even if anyone did manage to find her, it wouldn't even really be Betty anymore.
There was a knock on the door and Alice stuck her head inside. "Edgar?" she called, walking nervously into his office.
"Alice, come in." He rose and walked around his desk, letting slip another small smile. And he would get everything he wanted.
"Edgar," Alice said, sitting down in one of the chairs across from his desk, "I've been worried about you. You've seemed rather agitated, and just this morning you came back a mess. Is everything alright?" She frowned and started wringing her hands.
He sighed and leaned forward. "Everything is alright, Alice. My job comes with some unsightly responsibilities at times, things that I have to take care of myself. Certain sacrifices have to be made for you and everyone else here at The Farm to live safely and comfortably. To be the best leader I can be, I have to constantly make sure I'm dispelling disturbances that may otherwise be holding me back."
He reached forward and held a hand open for Alice. She grabbed it. "So you're just spending some time with yourself? Refocusing?"
He nodded, "I call it vision casting. Being closer to the earth, the elements, much like your baptism, helps me realign to the natural frequencies. Last night I had a particularly nasty thorn in my side that needed to be wrestled with, but it's better now."
Alice sighed and smiled. "Oh, that makes me feel better. I've been so worried about you."
"Thank you, Alice. I appreciate the concern. Awareness is an honorable thing to have."
The doors swung open and Penelope sauntered inside. Edgar pulled away from Alice and made eye contact with her. "Alice, so sorry to cut our time short, but I have a session with Penelope." Penelope raised an eyebrow wryly and waved at Alice, who had popped up from her seat.
"That's alright, Edgar, I heard what I needed. I'm just glad you are doing well." She shuffled toward the door. "Penelope," she said curtly.
"Alice," Penelope replied dryly. She walked over to the chair and plopped down as the door shut behind them. "What did she want?"
Edgar leaned back, relaxing into his chair. "Oh, she just wanted to know what I was doing last night."
Penelope smirked, "What'd you tell her?"
"Just what she needed to hear. Enough to appease her until this is all over."
Penelope pouted, "Pity this is almost over, it's been so delightful. Can I have the girl when you're done?"
Edgar tapped his fingers on the armrest, suppressing a grunt of frustration. "This is not a game, Penelope. This is serious."
The Newton's Cradle clacked forcefully between them. "What?" Penelope griped, "Aren't you planning on just leaving her for the wolves when you're done, anyway?"
"It's a carefully considered ending to a journey of slow destruction, not a throw-away," Edgar scowled.
Penelope raised her eyebrows and got up from her chair, tutting as she browsed the dusty books lining Edgar's office. "My, my, no need to get so fussy. It was just a question." She traced a finger over a small, stone bust of a bird sitting on one of the shelves. "But you did want to talk to me about something?"
He placed his elbows on his desk and folded his hands, "I wanted to go over a few final details and make sure you knew that I'm preparing on moving The Farm again. I've got one final act in my plans for Betty, but then we're moving on and you need to move on somewhere too, we can't be connected after this."
She plucked a book from the shelf, blowing a cloud of dust off the cover. "Oh, I didn't plan on staying with your band of misfits anyway. And please, I slipped away from the cops before, I don't think we'll have to worry about that."
"I know you've been back in Riverdale."
"Just on the fringes, out of sight."
"That's where you need to stay. I told you it was a risk for both of us to be there."
Penelope turned toward him and crossed her arms. "You don't get to make all the rules, or have all the fun."
Edgar sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I know I may sound a bit harsh, but I'm trying to keep us both safe. You want to keep your freedom, don't you?" She nodded.
"Now, please, sit down. We need to hash out a few more details." The cradle had grown silent, but Edgar reached back out and snapped one of the balls, sending the other end clicking and rapping. "And I'd like to hear a bit more about your son's death."
xxx
Alice pressed herself up against the large wooden doors, keeping her breathing slow and quiet.
She didn't trust Edgar one bit. For one, there had been a phone on his desk, and he was vehemently against certain technology, and Penelope was still hanging around. That was not a good sign. And vision casting? Ugh, that sounded like some half-baked mumbo-jumbo from a middle-aged divorcee trying to reclaim herself from the bad juju of her ex-husband.
The doors were thick and she could mostly only hear indistinct mumbling, but there were a few words she could catch clearly.
"This is not a game, Penelope."
She stifled a snort. At least Edgar's indignation toward Penelope was somewhat amusing.
"…moving The Farm again…"
Great. Hopefully, she'd make it out before there was another 'ascension.' She wasn't even sure how much longer she could take of the Farmies at present; another move would be absolute torture. She leaned in closer as the voices became mumbles again. And then she heard something that made her blood run cold.
"…plans for Betty,"
No.
No, no, no, she couldn't have heard that right.
She pulled away from the door and covered her mouth to keep from letting out an audible gasp.
Disappearing at odd hours, hoarding medical supplies, returning covered in dirt… that monster. What was he planning?
Alice broke into a fast walk down the hall, trying to hold back her panic. She had to act, she had to do something. And she was sure of one thing:
There was no time to lose.
Archie unzipped his backpack and began stuffing his books into his locker. He yawned and rubbed an eye; he had stayed at the community center much longer than he had anticipated.
"Good morning, Archiekins, late night?" Veronica strolled up beside him carrying a cup of coffee and a slightly irritated look.
"Crap," Archie stammered, dropping his arm to his side. "I was supposed to call you last night. I'm sorry, Ronnie, but we ending up catching our brick-thrower last night."
Veronica perked up. "And?"
"It was just a kid. Like you said." He shut his locker and the two started walking down the crowded hall. "His name's TJ, he's 12, and he has a pretty rough home life. The center opening just made him upset."
"Oh, Archie," Veronica rubbed his arm and leaned into him. "It sounds like you talked to this kid, then?"
He nodded, "Yeah, my mom and I sat with him for a long time last night. His mother died last year and it sounds like his dad doesn't do much more than drink these days. He's felt so helpless – even tried running away a few times. But I promised him that he could hang out at the center whenever he wanted if he needed a safe space."
Veronica pulled back and stopped. Archie turned toward her. "What?"
She was smiling. "You know who you sound like right now?" Archie shook his head, knitting his brow. "Your dad."
Archie felt a swell in his chest.
"Opening your doors to someone who needs a home?" Veronica continued, "It's exactly why you started the community center. It's exactly what Fred did for Jughead."
Archie swallowed, taking in that statement. He thought he would never feel close to his dad again, that the gap left in his heart would stay there forever. But each time he interacted with the kids at the center, the gap closed just a little bit.
He beamed and looked up, catching a glimpse of a gray beanie amongst the other bobbing heads down the hall.
"Veronica, speaking of Jughead, we need to talk to him." Archie started pacing back down the hallway, making sure he kept Jughead in his sight.
"After everything he said? He should be the one trying to talk to us." Veronica trotted behind Archie.
"Yeah, but after seeing TJ and realizing how much the paranoia of figuring out who did it was eating at me, I understood a bit more why Jughead's been holding onto his paranoia about Charles and everyone so much. Doesn't make everything he said right, but it's not going to help any of us right now if we keep blaming each other and refusing to talk."
Archie weaved in and out of the students. "Jug! Hey, Jug, please wait up!"
Jughead turned around and sent an annoyed scowl Archie's way, but he stopped, allowing Archie to catch up to him.
"Jughead, please, we have to stop avoiding each other. How long has it been? Almost a week?"
Jughead snorted. "We made a promise, Archie, are you ready to apologize for breaking that promise?"
Veronica caught up to the two of them. Archie felt a bit of anger creep into his mind, but pushed it away. "Yes, actually."
He hoped he looked earnest as Jughead tilted his head.
"We handled the situation wrong, we should have told you about Hiram as soon as it came up, but I also still stand with what I said about not everything being your business."
Jughead furrowed his brow and opened his mouth. "But," Archie interjected, "I've come to understand a bit more how you feel. It must not be easy to separate all your worry about Betty from everything else going on."
Jughead closed his mouth. It looked like he was considering this.
"Everything feels like a threat."
Archie nodded. He understood that part.
"And just as things were looking up, a brand new can of worms opened, and I still don't know where to put my trust," Jughead continued, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"You can trust us, Jughead," Veronica added, "I'm going to visit my dad again after school today to try to sort all this out."
Jughead looked between the two of them as if trying to read their faces for any hints of insincerity. Archie reached out a hand. "What do you say, Jug? Can we be friends again?"
Jughead pulled a hand out of his pocket, but instead of reaching out to Archie, he placed it around the strap of his bag. "To be discussed." And he turned and walked away down the hall.
Archie frowned and dropped his hand. Veronica stepped beside him. "What was that?"
He wrapped a hand around Veronica's and looked down at her.
"Progress."
"You found it in Pickens Park? Just like this?"
"Just like this," FP nodded. He and Charles were leaning against the desk in his office, staring at a whiteboard. A photo of the FBI badge was taped to a corner of the board.
"Look at this," FP continued, pointing at the photograph, "There are letters scratched out of Federal Bureau of Investigation. This has to be from Betty, I mean it looks just like the one you gave Jughead."
"We can't say anything definitive until we get the prints back from forensics," Charles inhaled and stepped forward, picking up a marker. "But, if it is from her, let's see what she's trying to tell us." He began writing, occasionally glancing up and squinting at the photo.
"edraraoigton," he spelled out, stepping back from the board. "If this is from Betty, she'd probably try to make this as straight forward as possible, like a name or a place."
"Um, okay. How do we start this? Just, like, sound stuff out or what?" FP crossed his arms and looked at the jumbled letters. They didn't make any sense to him, but he was sure there was something there.
"Just start looking for any familiar words or patterns, if we can rule a pattern in or out, that helps a lot." Charles uncapped the marker and began jotting down a few words underneath the stretch of letters.
"Well, there's no 'v' or 'l', so it can't be Riverdale. Which is concerning since we found it here."
"Well, it might point to a specific place in town," Charles said, backing away from the board. "Road is a possible word, so is Oneida? That's a town a bit south of here."
"Write it down, I'm not taking anything off the table right now." FP rubbed a hand over his face. "Go to? You can spell out 'go to,' what does that leave us with?"
There was a knock on the door and the CSI stuck his head in.
FP's heart jumped. "Allen! Did you already get a hit?"
Allen walked into the room carrying the evidence bag with the badge, and a few documents. "Yeah, that new equipment is working great." He handed FP the evidence bag. "We got some good news, FP. The prints on this are a match to Betty Cooper."
FP grabbed the bag and leaned back against the desk, his heart doing a small summersault. Finally. He looked over at Charles, who had a similarly eager look on his face.
"We also finished with the blood samples. The one from the grass is a match to Betty, as well as one of the spots from inside the pit."
FP's stomach dropped slightly at that bit of information. He sure hoped the resemblance between the scene he had found and the one he had asked Keller about stopped at just that - a resemblance.
"And there was one more match, too. There was a second blood sample found inside the pit. We didn't have a DNA match in our system, so we ran it against what the FBI gave us and we got a hit."
Allen handed FP the document he had been holding. FP scanned the information anxiously, a frown creeping onto his face. He handed Charles the paper and walked over to the whiteboard, staring at the letters. He crossed a few out and wrote a single word on the board.
"Edgar."
FP turned back to Charles, placing the marker down in the tray with a resolute thud.
"Looks like we're on the same case after all."
Hiram dropped the barbells back down onto the rack, pushing them back into a tidy, neat line. Everything was going smoothly insofar, even the little hiccup with Chic's demise hadn't affected much, as he thought it might. It was good that news from the outside did not travel easily through the prison.
Trying to figure out how to get a majority of the prisoners on his side had been quite a headache, but when he realized what desire he needed to play into, finding a willing volunteer for a set-up "escape" had been easy. A little money can go a long way.
And now it was time to enact the second phase of his plan.
He glanced around the courtyard, watching as the other inmates worked out or hung in their own reclusive corners of the area. One lonely guard was watching over the half-a-dozen or so men scattered around the yard. He made eye contact with the guard, who titled his head. Hiram nodded.
The guard stepped toward the closest prisoner and began verbally berating him, pulling out a nightstick. Hiram darted over.
"Hey! Stop it. This man has done nothing wrong!" he cried, stepping in between the guard and the inmate.
"He was looking at me funny, thought I should teach him a bit about respect," the guard replied, raising his baton a bit higher. "Besides, this isn't your prison anymore, Mr. Lodge. You can't tell me what to do."
Hiram sneered and throw a punch into the guards' face. The other inmate joined in, shoving the guard against the fence.
"Respect is earned, not forced," Hiram responded, sending the guard to the ground. The guard lay in a curled heap, backing himself up to the fence. Hiram turned around and looked over the courtyard. "Boys, how about we get out of here?"
Hiram opened the door and the other inmates began shuffling back into the precinct. As the last one disappeared around the corner, Hiram turned back to the guard and winked. The guard winked in return.
"Aren't you the one who built this prison?" The inmate from earlier had come up beside Hiram as they walked toward the cafeteria. "Why'd you do that?" The group was all staring at Hiram.
"Gentlemen," he began, placing his hands behind his back, "It's true. I did build this prison. I envisioned it as a place of rehabilitation, hence the cozy rooms and salaries. But as soon as I arrived on this side of the walls, I realized how corrupt that dream has become. The security detail has traded its civil duty for power."
"Cheap talk, Hiram. We know who you are," a skinny man with a long beard said, getting in Hiram's face. "Why would you fight for us?"
"Donnie, is it?" Hiram asked, clearing his throat. Remembering names was important, it was personal. "Because I know all of you just want what I want – freedom. My own security disillusioned me, in the beginning, yes, but now I stand with you. And I can help you because I know their weaknesses."
"Are you saying… you want to break out?" Donnie raised a suspicious eyebrow.
Hiram smiled. "I'm saying someone already has. Successfully. Do you remember that redhaired fellow? Chic, I believe?" A few of the men nodded. "He escaped a few weeks ago. Hasn't been caught. The captain of the guard panicked and has tried to keep it on the down-low, saying he was released on parole."
Donnie and a few of the other inmates began looking around at each other, inquisitive looks on their faces.
The bait was working. Now to add a bit more to the hook.
"The captain panicked so much in fact, that he gutted some of the staff and hired fresh faces, most likely so he could raise them up under his thumb without them being aware of it."
"Is that why we stopped getting paid? So they could hire new guards?"
Hiram forced a frown. "No, they took away your wages so that they could give a nice hearty donation to the Riverdale police force, show ponying it under the guise that it will aid the case of a local missing teenager, effectively keeping the police off the trail of all their inward corruption." Only a partial lie. He had ordered the donation to steer the public eye back to seeing his name in a good light.
Veronica had inadvertently assisted him by organizing that oh-so-timely rally, and he couldn't help but look forward to rubbing that in her face. Without exposing the plan, of course.
"How do you know all this?" Donnie probed, crossing his arms.
"A few of them still think I'm on their side. And so I've remained chummy, collecting bits of information here and there, but all the while I've been getting intel for you – for us – so we can take back our freedom."
Donnie seemed to be considering that, as a wry smile spread across his face. "Well, I'll be, boys, looks like we got ourselves a real fox in the hen house. I'm in. What's next?"
Hiram smiled. More like a paper tiger. "We'll stage an organized coup. If we join forces they'll be so overwhelmed, we'll be out and scattered before they ever knew what hit them."
"Mr. Lodge?" The captain of the guard himself had suddenly appeared. "You have a visitor."
Hiram nodded and walked over to him, glancing over his shoulder quickly and winking at Donnie and the group.
The next phase was in motion, and soon, he would be a hero again.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the group of inmates, the captain leaned towards Hiram. "Did they buy it?"
"I believe they did, Patton. Soon, this prison will be in mass chaos and I'll come out on top, a hero in the eyes of the people again." Patton made a very deliberate throat clear. "And you'll get your money, of course."
Captain Patton smiled. "The new recruits are here. They'll have no idea what hit 'em when the riot gets underway. They'll be so grateful for you, you'll have them in your pocket in no time. When are you planning the little coup anyway?"
"Oh, give it a little more time. I need to talk it up a bit more with some of them. Another week or so."
Patton nodded and Hiram watched a few new guards be led down the hallway as he approached the visiting area. What he did not expect was for Tom Keller to be amongst them.
"Hiram," Tom stated, tipping his hat with a small smirk as he passed.
"Tom," Hiram responded, steadying his face. As soon as he was far enough away, he scowled. He'd have to deal with that wrench later, right now he figured there was someone waiting in the lounge that he needed to satiate first.
The captain opened the door to the visiting area and sure enough, Hiram saw Veronica sitting at one of the tables, glaring at him.
She couldn't just leave well enough alone, could she?
Jughead walked into his house and threw his bag on the ground, sinking onto the couch.
"Hey, Jughead, how was school?" Gladys walked into the living room and sat next to him, placing a pile of mail on the coffee table.
"Better than yesterday," he answered, straightening himself up. "But I think I made a mistake, though."
"And what might that be?" Gladys asked.
"Archie reached out to me. He apologized and it sounded sincere, but I still brushed him off."
Gladys pursed her lips.
"He told me exactly what I wanted, more than he needed to really, but I still let my anger answer."
Gladys sucked a breath between her teeth. "Well, people can be sincere, but that doesn't mean we have to accept their apologies."
Jughead raised an eyebrow. "You mean like you and dad?" He stared at Gladys, who gave him a look of surprise. "Mom, I heard you and dad the other night."
She hung her head. "How much?"
"Enough."
She bobbed her head in thought and looked back up at Jughead.
"I-I'm not really sure dad has anything to apologize for," Jughead continued. "And neither do you."
Now Gladys looked confused, and possibly a bit hurt.
"Families are messy. Maybe ours just wasn't meant to work the way it was supposed to," Jughead said sadly.
Gladys moved closer and wrapped an arm around him. "Maybe, Jug. But what fun would it be if we were a normal family?" She smiled at him, but he could still tell she was upset.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I haven't been anything but standoffish to you since you've been here. Everything is just… everything is just so weird." He cupped his face in his hands.
"I know, baby, I know." She wrapped him in a big hug. He grasped her arm. "Just know that whatever happens, I love you and JB."
He nodded and leaned into her shoulder. He looked down at the pile of mail and titled his head. "What's that?" he said, reaching toward a large white envelope.
"Oh!" Gladys pulled away. "I was coming to bring that to you. It looks like a college letter, I wanted to see you get your first acceptance!"
Jughead looked at his mom and stiffened; he hadn't applied anywhere yet, and amongst the chaos of everything that had happened, he hadn't even sat down and researched any.
He looked back at the letter, his eyes catching the name in the address.
"It's for Betty." His heart sank. Gladys' face dropped and they were silent for a moment.
"Well," she said in a quiet voice, "we'll save it for when she gets back. So she can open it herself."
Jughead swallowed and gingerly placed the envelope back down on the coffee table. He heard the door open and FP stepped into the house. He looked a bit frenzied to Jughead, as he pushed the door closed in a hurry and dropped into a chair.
"Dad? What's up? You haven't been back to the house since you left for your shift last night."
"Jug," FP began, slowly removing his hat and placing it on the table. "Jug, we have some news."
Jughead quickly adjusted himself, eyes growing wide. Gladys got up and started walking toward the kitchen. "I'll just leave you two alone."
FP turned back to Jughead. "I got a call for something odd at Pickens Park this morning and we ended up finding an FBI badge, Jug. One with letters scratched out, and we were able to match the prints. Betty's prints."
Jughead felt his heart leap into his chest. "She's in Riverdale? She's- she's alive?" His words came out a bit shakily.
FP nodded. "She's alive. But, while she was in Riverdale, we're not confident she's being held here. We haven't gotten a location." He hunched over and folded his hands. "I don't mean to alarm you, but there was blood at the scene. Some of it matched Betty, but we got another match, too."
Jughead held his breath.
"Edgar Evernever."
Jughead felt as though the couch was lurching beneath him. Flashes of the Sisters of Quiet Mercy seized his mind, along with images of the sickening operating room and of a hypnotic smile.
"What…" he muttered, "No… but he doesn't know Chic…" He swallowed, his mind racing through a hundred threads at once. "The last time he was around Betty, she was… oh god…" He could feel his breathing start to accelerate at an uncomfortable rate. "What was weird at the Park?"
FP placed a hand on Jughead's knee, immediately helping him exhale. "I'll tell you about that later. Jug, we've got the FBI working with us now. And they've already been tracking him. We have to be close."
He should have known.
The answer had been right there in front of them the whole time. He had even been at the Sisters, too focused on Charles to see the signs right in front of him. The signs of the first name that should have popped into his head.
"Apparently not close enough to notice he was in Riverdale. Multiple times." Jug hastily fired back. He felt nauseated.
"Yeah, they admitted he's tricky. But Betty managed to leave us a clue. Part of it spelled out Edgar, but there's still more we have to decipher. Jug, I think you're the best person to figure out what that is. Will you help us?"
Jughead looked up. FP's face was soft and concerned.
He placed a hand on top of his dad's and nodded forcefully.
Answers. They were finally getting answers.
He just hoped they hadn't come too late.
Betty shivered and ambled over to the fireplace, pulling the blanket closer around her. She threw a few logs into the grate and lit a match, tossing it on top of the wood. Blowing gently, she tried to stoke the fire to life. The flame began to spread and she leaned back, sitting on the floor.
How long had it been since Edgar dumped her back in the cabin after burying her alive? Two days? Three? She couldn't even keep track of the days anymore. Torrents of grief and guilt kept tumbling through her head. There wasn't room to think about much else.
And then there was the pain. The pain she had caused everyone. Every time she started to think about it, her breathing got stuck and she was suffocating again. People had died because of her mistakes, her incompetence.
Maybe she was the one causing all the darkness in Riverdale after all.
Had her courage this whole time actually just been foolishness?
No, a small voice was still fighting its way to the front of her mind. No, Betty. Block out the thoughts. She hadn't succeeded at blocking out any thoughts since being in the coffin. Her mind was overflowing. Hadn't Dr. Glass said something about this? She thought he had mentioned something once about how to distract the mind, something about reciting a poem or song or something like that.
She watched the flames dance in front of her and she thought she heard a faint tapping on one of the windows.
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary…"
Great. Of course, that would be the first poem that came to mind. But she kept at it, trying to drown out the competing voices of shame and sorrow.
"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor."
Ghosts.
Betty slid toward the counter, tilting to one side to avoid the pain in her shoulder, and leaned up against it. She ran her hands through her hair. She felt haunted, as though ghosts were floating at the edge of her vision, reminding her of all the faces she'd once seen full of life, ones that now lay quiet and frozen.
"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing."
The awful hollow feeling in her stomach was returning and she suddenly choked back tears. Somehow she felt so empty and full at the same time. She kept trying to picture Jughead's face in her mind - her mom's, Archie's, Veronica's - but every time she tried to conjure them, they were distorted.
"Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before."
Their faces kept morphing into Edgar's evil grin, his blue eyes piercing into her like a cold blade. She shook; she never wanted to see him mad again. She might not live if there was a next time.
She jumped as wood creaked somewhere around her, and she darted her head uneasily toward the door. It remained shut and the knob still.
Betty exhaled and closed her eyes, collecting herself and leaning back against the counter. "'Tis the wind and nothing more."
She just wanted to go home.
She wanted to wake up in her bed in her overly pink room and realize this was all a dream. She wanted to see Jughead and her friends at school. She wanted to be sitting in Pop's, enjoying the lunch she never made it to. She wanted to worry about homework and college essays. She would even take worrying about gang politics or murder mysteries right now. Anything else if it meant being free and away from here.
Betty sighed and stared at the mantle above the fireplace, imagining a bird staring at her, its beady eyes digging into her soul, a small call of 'Nevermore' escaping its beak. She shook her head again and looked out the window. It was light outside and she knew she was awake. The nightmare was real and it wasn't fading away.
She hated that she felt so helpless. She hated that she was so scared of Edgar.
He was just supposed to be some joke of a cult leader. Some swindler conning people out of money with false promises. He was never supposed to have become a real enemy. He was never supposed to have manipulated her friends and family. He was never supposed to have almost performed surgery on her. He was never supposed to have become a stalker.
She wasn't supposed to go missing. She wasn't supposed to be so troubled by a cabin. She wasn't supposed to be jumping at the sound of doors and dirt. She wasn't supposed to be scared of Edgar.
Betty put her head in her hands and breathed slowly. The fire crackled and popped next to her, but even the orange and red flames twisting in her vision weren't enough to block out the beady eyes she could see behind her eyelids.
"Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the nightly shore - tell me what thy... what thy..." Betty let out a frustrated and garbled sigh.
The poem wasn't working. Everything felt like it was crashing in harder now.
She brought her knees up to her chest and pulled the blanket in tighter.
Veronica perched rigidly on the hard metal stool, waiting for her mother to be brought out.
The weekend had been weird; her father had danced around all of her questions about the donation, and he had a disturbing gleeful air about him. She had left more vexed than ever, and she hadn't even been able to talk about it with Archie, as he was spending time with his mother and at the center with TJ. She sighed, at least something good had come out of that whole situation.
And they still hadn't gotten another chance to talk to Jughead. He seemed to have fallen off the map once again. Archie said that he had seen Jughead and FP head to the police station together. Guess he really was just going to do the investigation without them.
A buzzer rang and Veronica watched as her mother sat down across from her behind the towering wall of glass.
"Mija," Hermione breathed. "It's so good to see you. It's been a while."
"Mom…" Veronica began, rubbing a nail on the black phone. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get back here, there's been-," she drew out a long breath, "a lot going on."
Hermione tilted the phone in her hand, knitting her brow. "Veronica?" she asked, her voice tender, "what's wrong?"
Veronica tensed, biting the edge of her lip. "Daddy is up to something and I can't figure it out. It's all a giant mess and just as Machiavellian as ever." A heavy lump sat in Veronica's throat. "Except, others… innocents… are getting tangled in the web." She scrunched up her face, turning away, trying not to let her mother see the tears forming.
Hermione pursed her lips and lifted a hand, gingerly pressing her fingers to the glass. "Ronnie," she whispered gently, "what's wrong?"
The mounting sob she had been fighting finally broke free. "I've been trying to be so strong," she hiccuped, tears flowing freely down her cheeks, "but everything is falling apart. Betty's been gone for so long, Jughead is self-destructing and won't talk to us, and I'm responsible for my father. And I was trying to be the strong one for everyone. But I can't…" she faltered, almost dropping the phone out of her trembling grip.
Her mother frowned. "Veronica, honey. Look at me."
Veronica slowly raised her head, staring at her mom through watery eyes. She stifled a small sniffle.
Hermione's eyes held a warm sympathy that melted through the glass. "Cry. Let whatever it is inside you spill out. And then I want you to brush yourself off and stand. Rise against whatever has pushed you down and show them that Lodge ferocity that would send the Devil himself back to Hell."
Veronica gaped at her mother, her blinking eyes now burning with salty tears and gratitude.
"And Mija," Hermione continued, placing her palm back up on the glass. "You are not responsible for your father, I am. Just forget about him. And don't worry about me. Your friends need you more than I do."
Veronica's throat closed up a second time as she managed an admiring smile. Did her mother really just tell her she could be loyal to another family?
"Thank you, Mom." She brushed away a tear with the back of her hand. "And here I thought I needed to be strong for you, too."
Hermione smiled. "I've had a lot of time to think in here. You gain a different perspective being alone with yourself."
Veronica drew in a deep breath and felt a warm trickle replace the tight lump that had been in her chest. She looked around, suddenly aware of the fact there were others in the room. If anyone had noticed her breakdown, they didn't let on.
Veronica turned back toward her mother and pressed her hand up against Hermione's, the space between them growing smaller and smaller.
The air hung thick and heavy over the booths in Pop's diner. A gray beanie lay crumpled on one of the tables next to a half-eaten burger and an emptied cup of coffee. Jughead had his face buried in the screen of his laptop, typing away, trying to push away the sullen panic that had become something of a new normal in his mind.
Remove the thread and the seam starts to unravel. That's what life at present felt like. The very fabric of our lives was ripping, because our thread had been yanked away from us. The four teenagers at the beginning of this story? They were drifting apart, writhing under the pressure and pain of the past few weeks.
Archie had tried to reconcile and I had pushed him away again. And he was still running around with his rushed heroics, trying to avoid tripping over his own cape. Veronica had turned her focus back toward a different mystery, cuddling up under the splintered wing of her family.
My family wasn't doing much better. Even when we all tried to make it work, it just never seemed to jive the way it should. Maybe all of this was for a lesson life had been trying to repeatedly beat into my head; that there was no control. Maybe we weren't in charge of writing our own stories, but our stories were writing themselves. Our experiences, the threads in our life, wove themselves however they wanted, no matter how hard we tried to change the pattern.
Jughead lifted his gaze away from the bright screen and looked into the hazy corner of the diner, toward a large corkboard hosting a multitude of flyers. Betty's face smiled at him from the front of a slightly frayed "Missing" poster tacked to the top of the mess of notices. A new poster had been hung next to it, a "Wanted" addendum with a rough sketch of Edgar Evernever peering out from it.
Jughead shuddered; even as a drawing, he was unsettling.
At least we finally had a name. At least now there was something we might be able to change. And for all the imagery and metaphors used in this tale, Betty had in fact been encircled by a real monster. The irony left me sick to my stomach.
Like I said, maybe the story is writing itself and I truly am just the chronicler, cursed to watch every calamity and tragedy that befalls this town and its people.
Jughead pulled away and groaned. The words felt sloppy. He couldn't string together his thoughts properly on the page, they were a mess in his head.
After a few days of research and examination with Charles' team, they still only had a name. Jughead hadn't figured out the rest of the clue yet and there were no solid directions; the FBI only extended their search parties and rushed re-assignments to a larger cast net of surrounding areas. At least now this was under federal jurisdiction and the whole state was on alert. That made Jughead feel a bit better. But he also couldn't ignore the fact that Edgar had successfully evaded detection for over five months at this point. That did not make him feel better.
Jughead turned back to the table, sliding a few loose pieces of paper under his laptop. He had written down the letters from Betty's clue so he could try to figure it out without a bunch of officers and agents breathing down his neck. But so far, he still had nothing and he was beating himself up about it.
He also couldn't push a few sickening thoughts out of his mind; his brain kept flashing to that beastly operating room at the Sisters, to sickly yellow light swinging over dark stains on the surgical table. He sucked in a gasp and shook his head fervently – he wouldn't, no, he couldn't, let his mind linger on imaginings as to what Betty might be undergoing. Not now.
He glanced back up at the posters, letting anger seep into his thoughts instead. He turned back to his laptop and scrolled up to the top of his document, staring at the title that he had given the piece.
Hope for Riverdale.
The cursor blinked tantalizingly in front of the title. He closed his eyes and watched the black pound behind his eyelids. He lifted his fingers, feeling them hover over the keyboard. He opened his eyes, inserting a small two-letter word in front of the title.
No Hope for Riverdale.
Jughead slumped back in his seat and stared out the poster window next to him. The sun was sinking behind the distant mountains, wisps of pink and orange beginning to paint the dying sky. A loud tapping on the table caused him to whip his head around.
"Mind if I join you?"
Charles was standing over the booth holding a plate of food.
Jughead initially scowled and looked away, continuing the cold shoulder treatment that he had been giving Charles the past few days. But then he suddenly thought about how he had messed up with Archie earlier in the week. He turned back and sighed, waving his hand to Charles to sit down. Maybe he could try again.
"I thought you might want some company," Charles said, scooting into the booth across from him and picking up a few fries.
Jughead grunted and stared at his computer, then raised an eyebrow. "Do you have an update?"
Charles' face drooped and he slowed his chew. He shook his head, "No," he said softly, "just a couple more cold trails from some of the teams up north."
"Well, good thing my dad is letting me help again. You could use a real detective," Jughead retorted distantly, closing his laptop.
Charles smiled and bit into his burger. "I'm hoping. I bet Kane twenty bucks that you could figure out the whole case before we could." He swallowed, "Not like I'm ragging on the FBI or my own team, but I just really want to see Kane's face when that happens."
Jughead's lips twitched, but he didn't form a full smile. He still had an unanswered question. "Why were you so mean to my mom the other day?" he asked curtly.
Charles frowned and looked down at the table. "Because she isn't my mom. I haven't had anybody in so long, and then I found Alice, and just like that I had a real family – and a chance it might even get back together. But then came a threat to that."
Might even get back together. That realization immediately diffused the anger in Jughead's mind. "Oh. I didn't know you still… wanted that, at your age."
Charles nodded. "It's all I dreamed about as a foster kid, and I never even had a picture of my parents growing up. That feeling doesn't always go away just because you get older. I'm still just a kid sometimes, wanting his parents."
A lump rose in Jughead's throat and he felt his face grow hot. "Maybe that's why I was so mean to you, too," Jughead choked, "you know; before Betty disappeared. I wanted my family back together, too. I didn't view you as a real part of the family, just a threat."
"Because we have different moms, so one of us will never actually get that wish."
They stared at one another for a few silent minutes, both faces growing red. Jughead was fighting back tears. He knew he was the one that probably wasn't going to get that wish, but that was starting to be okay with him. Charles never even had time with his parents until now. At least he could say otherwise. "I'm sorry, Charles." He picked anxiously at his hat. "I guess we really aren't that much different. Betty tried to tell me that."
"It's okay, Jughead, these things take time." He popped a few fries in his mouth. "How about we start over?" Charles cleared his throat and looked directly at Jughead with a smile on his face, holding out an open hand. "Hello, Jughead, I'm your half-brother Charles. Nice to meet you."
Jughead smiled and wiped his cheeks, extending a hand to Charles. "Hi Charles, welcome to the strangest family ever."
They shook hands and laughed. Jughead pushed his laptop aside and put his beanie back on. He picked up his burger and took a bite, nodding as Charles started into a story about an early assignment with the FBI. As the story ended, Jughead's eyes inadvertently flitted behind Charles and his grin faded. Charles looked over his shoulder, seeing the posters, and turned back with a sympathetic frown.
Jughead leaned back in the booth, staring longingly out the window. The pink and orange had been joined by swirls of red and purple, forming a vibrant sunset that cascaded across the open sky. "Why does something like that have to exist at a time like this?"
Charles looked out the window and took in a deep breath. "It's there to remind us, I think. Remind us that there's still beauty and hope, even when everything around us is trying to paint the world gray."
"Yet, the sun still sets and rises."
Veronica stepped off of the step ladder and moved backward, taking in the new wall décor. Her portrait had been restored to its rightful place while Hiram's portrait lay carelessly in a corner of the study.
She smiled and walked out into the living room, catching a glimpse of red and orange out one of the windows. She pulled back the shades and leaned against the window frame, allowing herself to stop and drink in the vivid sight above her.
"The black of the night is caught between the two boldest, stunning displays of light, telling us that the dark doesn't last."
Archie sank down on the edge of his bed and glanced over at the top of his dresser. He reached out and grabbed a picture frame, pulling the photo of him and his dad the night of the variety show close to his chest. He sighed and stroked a thumb over the edge of the photo before placing it back down.
He crossed the room and grabbed his guitar. Archie rolled the instrument over in his hands before glancing out his open window at the lavish colors slowly spreading in the sky. His eyes wandered, landing on the adjacent house, gazing through the quiet window of a dark bedroom that stared back at him. One that used to guarantee him catching a glimpse of the smiling face of a friend.
He lowered his head and swallowed, pulling his desk chair underneath him and his guitar strap over his shoulder.
Archie's words swirled up into the colorful canvas of sky as he sang a lament to that empty bedroom and a worn picture frame.
"And we can look up and know that somewhere out there, no matter how far apart we are - our family, our friends - we're all still under the same sky."
Betty sat curled on the rocking chair, the blanket wrapped tightly around her. Dying embers sizzled in the fireplace, sending a few coils of smoke floating through the room.
She closed her eyes and drew a knee to her chest, nestling her forehead on it as she slowly rocked. If she tried, she could hear the faint murmur of the stream, as well as a few cracks and pops from the darkening forest beyond. A tree branch rustled outside, a flapping of wings and trill of caws echoing near the window.
She looked up, catching a few scattering birds fly up towards the pink and yellow-tinged clouds that hung behind the grim black bars. Betty hugged her knee tighter as she steadily rocked back and forth.
She shivered, staring out the window again, this time through watery eyes, watching as color and shadow descended over the Canadian wilderness, signaling the start of another long and lonely night.
"We're all still together. And nothing and no one can take away that truth."
Charles grew quiet as he leaned back in his seat. Jughead blinked slowly and the two sat in silence, both staring out the large window in front of them. The other customers talked softly around them, their hushed murmurs and the din of the diner bell becoming white noise.
Jughead felt a tingle start to spread through him, like warm water coursing down his back, as he watched the sunset deepen and stretch before his eyes. Shadows were falling over the distant mountains, and the trees surrounding the diner swayed gently in the evening breeze.
For a moment, Betty didn't feel so far away.
Author's Notes: Phew, that one was a doozy! I didn't realize just how many threads had woven their way into this, and I even cut a few scenes out of this chapter!
We're getting close to collision folks, and I am super pumped about writing the next couple of chapters.
As always, leave a review if you have any thoughts and if you are enjoying it! I am so encouraged by all the reviews and feedback. Thanks so much for being such dedicated readers! This story would be nothing without you.