Once Betty settled into slumber beside him, Jughead eased out of the bed. He looked down at his sleeping girlfriend, her wet hair spread across his pillowcase. She was naked beneath the sheets, and normally the idea of her lithe frame and bare breasts would have made him hard, but he was too worried to be aroused, too preoccupied by the reopened wounds on her palms and now the new cut on her thigh.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand. He owed Alice Cooper a call. They both had been out all day and night looking for Betty.
Before dawn this morning, he'd been awakened at the Andrews' home by someone talking in the kitchen. Before the voices had woken him up, he'd spent the night staring at his phone, waiting for a text from Betty. After hours of not receiving one, he'd fallen asleep, phone in hand, but he jolted awake when the kitchen door slammed and Mary Andrews had walked in. He sneaked down the stairs and listened, hidden in the shadows of the foyer.
"What?" Mary said into the receiver of her cell phone. "You were wrong about the man who shot Fred? You arrested the wrong person? The guy had an airtight alibi and you let him go? I don't understand. How could you let this happen, Keller?"
She waited a beat, listening to whatever excuses Sheriff Keller was giving her. The sounds of her heels, pacing in the wooden kitchen floors, echoed through the house.
"This is unacceptable! It's been almost forty-eight hours since Fred was shot. You know the first forty-eight are the most crucial. The shooter could be in Bali by now for all we know. You might never be able to catch him." She stopped pacing, shouldered off her suit jacket, and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. "Yeah. Yeah. At least Fred is alive. But, Keller, do you think. . . Do you think this has anything to do with Goldhead?"
What the hell was Goldhead?
"I know. I know. We're not supposed to talk about it, but I can't help but wonder. We're coming up on the twenty-fifth anniversary of that horrible night. What if?" Her voice trailed off while she waited for the sheriff to give his opinion.
Twenty-five years? Jughead did the math. That would have put them all in high school. Their senior year maybe? What had happened to them?
While Mary continued to listen to Keller, Jughead did a quick Google search on Goldhead. Michael Roess Goldhead. He clicked the article, but only learned that Michael Goldhead had a state park in northern Florida, nothing else. Nothing of any importance. No news articles and no police files.
"Yeah, I know. All seven of us promised to take it to the grave," Mary said. "Don't worry. I won't say anything to anyone." Then she hung up her cell.
Jughead processed what he'd heard-Fred's shooter hadn't really been caught and Sheriff Keller, Mary, Fred, and four others were keeping an incriminating secret that they swore to take to their deaths, a secret that might have gotten Fred shot. A secret that could be threatening Mary still. Jughead was so deep in thought that he startled when Mary came around the corner and almost ran into him.
"Juggie!" Mary said, her hand over her heart, her eyes wide with surprise. "You scared me. What are you doing here? I thought you'd be with your foster family?"
Jughead had met the family this morning, a kind older couple who had never been able to conceive a child of their own. They lived in the trailer park at the center of the Southside. Phil and Jane Cummings had a small bedroom for him, an endless supply of baked goods, and all the Jeopardy he could handle. Staying with them wouldn't be that bad, but he wasn't ready to move in yet. And they had given him the freedom to decide when would join them.
"Not yet. I wanted to stay here in case Archie needed anything," Jughead said.
Mary touched his shoulder. "You've always been such a good friend to him, maybe better than he deserves. Are you hungry? I can fix you something to eat."
"I'm fine. Thanks. Is everything okay?" he asked. "Fred alright?"
She shifted on her feet. "Yeah. Of course. Archie decided to stay overnight, but Fred is just fine."
"Did the police find out anymore about the shooter?"
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. After a moment, she said, stumbling through her words, "Not sure. I haven't talked to Keller in a few hours."
She was lying and Jughead knew there had to be a reason. The journalist inside him wanted to grill her about what he'd overheard about Fred's real shooter being on the loose and everything else she and Sheriff Keller had discussed, but he also knew he'd probably find out a lot more from snooping in his own. She wasn't going to tell him the truth anyway. And for that he needed how favorite sleuthing partner.
"Okay. Well, goodnight," he said, and then he turned on his heels and climbed the stairs again.
Once back in the room, he went to his bag for some clothes to change into. Yes, it wasn't yet morning, but he wanted to tell Betty right away what he'd found out. She had told him she hadn't been sleeping well, so he sent her a text saying that he was coming over. He dressed and paused at the doorway, listening to see if Mary was still up. After a moment, he heard the shower turn on, and he stepped out into the hallway.
He checked his phone as he went down the stairs, but Betty hadn't responded to his text yet. He wouldn't wait for her. If she was asleep, he'd just climb into her bed and sleep with her until morning. There had been something off about her last night when they'd sat in FP's truck. He needed to be with her now, with or without the sleuthing. He was sure the ladder he used to climb into her bedroom was still tucked behind the bushes on the side of her house. He pulled on his coat and eased the front door open.
Once outside, he looked up to Betty's window and saw that her lamp was on. When he reached the top of the ladder, he was so shocked when he saw not Betty but Alice standing in the middle of the room that he almost fell off the ladder.
After Alice told him that Betty was missing, they'd spent the morning and the rest of the day looking for her, going their separate ways this afternoon to cover more ground.
And that was why he owed Alice a call. He'd sent her a text earlier tonight when he was filling up the bath for Betty, and told Alice that he'd found her and she was okay. Alice had sent him two dozen texts by now and left three voicemails.
He sat on the green sunken in sofa in the living room while he waiting for Alice to answer. Hot Dog was sleeping on the cushion next to him. The dog twitched in his sleep, but didn't acknowledge when Jughead stroked its fur.
"Forsythe Jughead Jones the third!" Alice exclaimed. "Where are you and where is my daughter?"
"We're at the trailer. She's sleeping. She's okay."
"But what about the blood I found in the bathroom?"
He hesitated, not knowing how to respond. Sure, he didn't know for certain why Betty had that cut on her leg, but he had already guessed what had happened. But even if he did know what really happened, he didn't feel like it was his place to tell Alice. Not yet. At least not until he discussed things with Betty.
"It was just an accident. She had a cut on her leg. Nothing serious. She's okay. I promise."
He heard Alice softly crying into the receiver. "She's my baby," Alice said. "I don't want her hurting."
"I know, and I'm going to take care of her tonight. You know how much I love her."
Alice sniffled. "I know. Thank you for being there. Thank you for helping me search. Call me in the morning."
"I will," he said and then hung up.
He rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. He was grateful to have found Betty and have her here with him now, but finding his sweet, vibrant girlfriend terrified and mute, looking like a phantom, had scared the shit out of him. And it made him sad to see her so withdrawn and distant. How could he help her? How could he pull her out of this melancholy? Could he? No matter what it took, he'd be with her every step of the way.
"What are we going to do, Hot Dog?" he asked the sleeping dog. He waited for a response, but Hot Dog snored on. "Thanks for your help, buddy."
Jughead stood and stretched, and went into the kitchen to fill Hot Dog's food bowl. He'd only owned the dog for a few days, but had learned that it liked an breakfast early. If he didn't fill the bowl now, Hot Dog would climb into bed around four in the morning, and repeatedly lick his face until he woke up. Jughead was exhausted. He and Betty both needed to sleep in. He petted Hot Dog one last time when he passed through the living room. He smiled when the dog licked his hand and immediately back to sleep. All his life, he'd begged FP for a dog, and the answer was always no. Life wasn't perfect right now, but at least he had finally gotten his dog. He paused at the bedroom door. And he'd gotten the girl of his dreams. The only girl who had ever mattered.
But before he could join her in bed again, there was a soft knock on the front door. Who the hell could that be? It was still the middle of the night. He had decided to ignore whoever was there and climb into the warm bed with Betty, but then the knock came again, louder this time, more of a pounding. He didn't want it to wake Betty, so he stomped over and retched open the door, ready to curse out whoever was there, ready to send them away.
But he didn't. There was a guy with brown, slicked back hair and a Serpents jacket on his front stoop. Jughead stopped short when he realized it was his new friend Zach from Southside High. Zach had come up to him in the cafeteria in the first day, stolen a french fry, and that was all it took. Zach was also a son of a Serpent nicknamed Snake, the guy who'd knocked on his door the other night and told Jughead that the Serpents had his back. What was it with this family and their middle of the night visits that interrupted his time with Betty?
"What?" Jughead snapped when Zach kept looking over his shoulder instead of telling Jughead why he was here at this ungodly hour. "What is it?"
"I . . . um. Sorry to wake you," Zach said. He twisted his head around again and looked behind him.
As Jughead waited, Hot Dog joined him, sitting next to his heels. The noise at the door must have roused his nearly useless guard dog. He leaned down and whispered to Hot Dog, "Good boy."
"Oh, good," Zach said, noticing Hot Dog. Eric squatted down to pet the dog, and Hot Dog licked his hand. "This is where you got off to. I was afraid you'd gone missing too, boy."
"What's wrong?" Jughead asked again.
Zach straighten up. "You haven't seen my dad, have you?" Jughead shrugged. "You know, big guy." He held his hand up about six inches over his head, showing Jughead how tall his dad was. "Long hair, goes my Snake."
"I know who your dad is, but no, I haven't seen him."
"Oh, okay," Zach said, starting to back down the stairs. "I just thought maybe..."
Jughead didn't know all the Serpents well, but he knew enough about them to know that Snake was a devoted father. If Zach was looking for him, something was wrong. "Why are you looking for him? Has something happened?" Jughead asked.
"Dunno," Zach replied with a shrug. "It's just not like him to not be in contact. If you see him, please let him know I'm looking for him."
"Okay," Jughead said. "Wait." He grabbed the sleeve of Zach's Serpent jacket. It was a reach, but his something told him that something was off. His journalist senses were tingling. Fred getting shot, the Andrews, Keller, and four other mystery people having some deep dark secret that was coming up on its twenty-fifth anniversary, something called Goldhead, and now Snake was missing. In any good story, and in real life, there were no coincidences. Everything might not be connected, but it was all happening at once for some reason.
Then one more thing occurred to Jughead. "Why did you come here?" He asked. "I barely know your dad. Why would you come to me?"
"You're FP's son. With him in jail and Mustang dead, I just assumed leadership of the Serpents fell to you."
"I'm not taking over for him," Jughead said.
Zach looked down at his feet, shifting his weight. "Maybe you should," he said. "FP has always bragged about how smart you are. I think you would be good at it."
"At a life of crime?" Jughead said, scoffing.
"That's not what we do and you know it."
Zach was right. Yeah, the Serpents were a rough crowd, but he's never seen or heard them do anything too illegal. A dime bag of weed, a bar fight, loitering at the gm drive in. They weren't well off like that majority of the people in Riverdale and most of the town thought they were useless criminals, but Judged knew what it was like to be judged on false pretenses.
"I'll keep an eye out for your dad," Jughead said.
"Thanks, man," Zach said and walked through the front lawn and disappeared into the shadows of the trailer park.
Snake missing was weird, but with everything else added to that it was irrefutable proof that the last innocence of Riverdale, the sweet, small town with pep, had died with Jason Blossom.
At least he still had Betty, his refuge from the shit storm that was coming to his town.
He eased the bedroom door opened and stood next to the bed where she lay, wrapped up in a blanket, sleeping in his bed. Even in her darkness, she was beauty, a light to his life. The darkness didn't bother him. He'd lived his life in the shadows, too. Like him, Betty Cooper had layers, and he loved every one of them.
She shifted beside him when he pulled back the covers and snuggled up. On his side, he pulled her into him, affixing her backside to his front, kissed her bare shoulder, and she sighed in her sleep. Underneath the covers, her hand found his, fingers feeding through his, the thin, rough scars on her palms rubbing against his skin. He slipped his free hand down to her leg, searching for the new cut there. He felt it against his fingertips, the skin around it puffy and angry, not yet scabbed over.
Maybe her darkness did worry him a little, but it was only because he hated that she was hurting. That she'd caused herself this physical pain.
He brushed the hair from her neck aside and kissed her. Even though he couldn't see her face, he knew she smiled. That's how it was with Betty. When she was happy, her entire being radiated joy. She opened up and offered it to the world. She turned until she was facing him.
"Good morning,"she said. She kissed him on the nose, and looked out the small bedroom window to the still night sky. "But I guess it's not really morning."
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Fine," she replied.
She nuzzled his chest, kissing in between his pectoral muscles. Then her hands moved down his stomach. She tilted her head up, her mouth brushing against his, her tongue slipping into his mouth. Her hand slipped into the front of his pajamas and her fingers wrapped around him, forming a fist.
"Betty, wait," Jughead said, laying his hand over hers, stopping her movement. "We need to talk about what happened last night."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, laying her hand on his chest.
He pulled back a little so he could look at her better, trying to see if she was serious or not. "You remember, right?" he asked.
"Yeah," she admitted on a sigh. "I'm fine. I promise."
"But this is different, Betts. I saw the cut on your leg. What happened?"
She turned into him, burying her head in his chest. "I feel so stupid. So embarrassed."
"Did you cut yourself?" he asked. She only nodded. Shit. That's what he thought. This was different from the marks on her hands, more dangerous.
"I don't know why I did it." She rolled her lips inward and didn't say anything for a moment. "Yes, I do," she admitted. "I got overwhelmed by... What I don't know. My family just keeps pretending everything is fine. It's like the Stepfords over there. All smiles and sunny things, but everything is falling apart. And sometimes I just get this sense, a feeling, a fear that everything is wrong, even when everything is good. It's overwhelming, weighty, suffocating."
She had no idea, but her feeling of forewarning was right on. Something bad was coming to Riverdale, already here. He wanted to reassure her that she wasn't crazy. She was actually right to be afraid, but he didn't want to add one more stress to her. For now, he would keep her in the dark with what was really happening. He'd give her one more day, but then he'd need his detective, journalist girlfriend to help him figure out this mystery.
"I hadn't sleep much," she said. "Hadn't slept at all but for the night I spent with you. And the darkness I told you about felt like it was crushing me. In the past, digging my fingernails into my palms had been enough to keep me in check, but it wasn't this time. And in my sleep deprived madness, I thought a deeper cut would help."
"Did it?" he asked, genuinely trying to understand why she did it.
She opened her mouth to speak, but instantly shut it with a clink of her teeth. After a moment, she lowered her head and shook it. "I won't do it again, I promise."
She didn't say no, and he wasn't sure if he believed her, but he didn't want to push her right now. He kissed the crown of her head, and said, "And please don't disappear like that again."
"I'm sorry, Jug. I hate that I worried you."
"Just promise me if you ever feel the urge to hurt yourself again like that that you'll call me. I'll be there. I'll help you figure it out."
"I promise." She kissed his cheek. "I really am sorry. So sorry."
"I'm just glad you're safe." He kissed her forehead this time. "I was so worried. It's not like you to not text back, but then I remembered that your mom had figured out that we'd been having a lot of sex in this trailer when you were supposed to be having a slumber party with Veronica. I thought maybe Alice had grounded you and taken away your phone. But then I-" he stopped himself. He almost let it slip what he'd found out about Fred's shooter. And something about Goldhead, whatever that was. He'd tell her later, after she'd had a good night's sleep.
"I missed you too much and decided to sneak up into your room. But when I climbed your ladder, I about fell off of it when I saw your mom standing in the middle of your room. The drawers of your dresser were pulled out, its contents spilled out onto the floor. Alice Cooper looked up at me, my hand in a fist ready to knock on your windowpane."
"Oh God! My mother!" Betty sat up. "She's going to kill me."
When she started to get out of bed, he stopped her. "No, it's okay. I called her. She knows where you are."
"Fornicating in the Sunnyside Trailer Park," Betty quipped. She laughed at her own joke, and it sounded good, like the clever bright girl he knew and loved.
"You wish we were fornicating right now," he said, tickling her sides.
Squirming in his grasp, she giggled and slapped his hands away. He used the opportunity to roll her onto her back and pin her hands over her head. Serious now, he looked down at her. "I love you," he said.
The laugh on her lips melted into a soft smile. "I love you, too." He released her wrists, and she reached up and touched his cheek. "Thank you for saving me tonight."
"I didn't do anything as heroic as saving you," he responded. "And you don't need me to save you. Elizabeth Cooper will save herself."
"But you'll be here next to me." She closed her eyes for moment. "What if I do it again again, Jug?"
"You won't," he replied.
"But what if I do?"
If she asked him the question twice, it must have been because she had been considering doing it again. "Then we'll get you help."
She nuzzled her nose against his throat. "Back to fornicating," Betty said. There was a light joyfulness in her voice.
She pushed up the hem of his sweater up, and starting at the waistband of his pants she kissed a trail from his bellybutton to his collarbone. She nipped his earlobe as she moved her hands over his chest, and he felt himself growing stiff beneath the thin fabric of his pants. He let Betty touch her fill, and he enjoyed every second of it. He wanted to touch her, wanted to nudge her legs open and push himself inside her softness. Worried that she still wasn't in her right mind, he wanted to let her take the lead this time.
Betty pushed Jughead's shoulders until he was on his back on the bed. She smirked down at him as she climbed onto him, straddling his lap. She settled over him, grinding down, rubbing herself against his hardness.
She reached in between their bodies, pulled down the waistband of his pants, freeing him. She took him in her hand, and forming a fist around him, moved from his base to the tip, circling the head.
"Shit," he hissed. Her fingers tightened, moved faster. As she continued to rub herself against him, her head thrown back, sexy moans escaping her parted lips. God, all he wanted right now was to be inside her, but before he let that happen, he had to make sure she was really okay.
He reached up and took her face in his palm. "Betty. Betty," he repeated her name, and after a moment she looked down at him. "Are you sure? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Jug."
Her eyes were wide, hazy with lust. Her blond hair, still curling and damp from the bath, hung around her shoulders. The flood light from outside streaming through the window hit the curve of her neck, illuminating her in a glow of brilliance. This was his Betty. The darkness was no longer here with her. At least for the moment.
She shifted over him, adjusting herself until she hovered over him, waited for him to meet her gaze and locked eyes with him, and then she rose up just a little and came down on him. Hard. Her softness sheathed him.
He released a deep, guttural moan when her hips pulsed forward. She didn't rise up, but kept him deeply embedded inside her. The top of him pressed into the back of her interior wall, and it was the best god damned thing he'd ever felt. For leverage, she placed her hands on his chest, and undulated her hips, rising up and down on him.
He wasn't going to last long if she kept this up. Betty had always been very opened with him, but never so determined before, so possessed by need for him. He could see it in her eyes, a fire that had always been there, but was brighter than ever before. He moved his hand in between them, found the center of her sex, circled it with his fingertips, caressed it gently and first, but then harder when she tilted her pelvis upwards, wanting more. He increased the pressure on her. Her neck arched back, exposing the pale, slender column if her throat. Short and stagnant her breaths escaped her parted mouth, lips still swollen from kissing him. Her core vibrated against him. He could feel her orgasam from inside and out, and it took everything in his power not to come, too.
Not giving her time to recover, he gripped her hips and flipped her onto her back. Caught off guard, she giggled as her back bounced onto the mattress, but she turned serious as he embedded himself inside her again. With her head against the pillow, she thrashed about as Jughead thrust in and out of her.
When he heard the hitch in her throat again, that was it for him, all he could handle. He pulsed into her on last time, and that was it. Before he collapsed, he rolled off of her and onto his back. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.
She scooted over in the bed and laid her head on his chest. They whispered to each other, accolades of love as they drifted off to sleep. Right as Jughead closed his eyes, his phone vibrated on the nightstand. Ignoring it, he turned over and pulled Betty into him, but the phone rang again and again, so much that it vibrated right off of the bedside table and onto the shag carpet below.
He swore as he jolted up from the bed. Afraid he'd woken up Betty in his haste to get up, he glanced back at her as he reached for the phone, but she hadn't stirred.
Not recognizing the number, he started to turn his phone off, but then the call came through again. Whoever was calling obviously wasn't going to give up, so he stepped out into the hall and answered.
"What?" Jughead asked in an angry whisper.
"Hey," said a vaguely familiar voice. "It's Zach. I need to talk to you. Can you meet me at the Whyte Wyrm?"
"What the hell for?" Jughead asked. "It's the middle of the night, it's raining, and you've gotten me out of bed with my girlfriend twice. You get that I'm not the leader of the Serpents, right?"
"Yeah, but-"
Jughead cut him off. "I'm going back to bed," he said.
"Wait," the desperation in Zach's voice made Jughead stop himself from having up. "I'm so sorry, man. I wouldn't bug you if I didn't think this was important."
"Just tell me what happened," Judged said. "Did your dad come home or something?"
"A part of him did."
That sounded grizzly. "What are you talking about?"
"Someone just rang the doorbell, and I went to answer it, no one was there. At least I thought." Zach's voice caught. "I found his Serpent jacket on the front stoop. He never takes that thing off. It could be 98° outside and he'd be wearing it. And there was blood in the cuffs."
"Oh, shit, dude. I'm sorry. Have to told sheriff Keller? He's the person you should be calling."
"Like Keller would be any help."
He had a point. Keller was a clueless, useless asshole. He wouldn't be any help. "Maybe you're right, but this has nothing to do with me."
"But I think it does. Because when I picked up the leather jacket from the stoop something fell out."
He paused, and Jughead was tired and irritated enough that he swore when he thought Zach was pausing for dramatic effect.
"What was in the jacket?" Jughead demanded.
"A picture. It was of your dad and six other people from when they were all in high school, probably twenty-five years ago. They had their arms around each other, laughing and smiling. They were standing in front of gold colored sign."
Something clicked. Seven people. Twenty-five years ago. Gold.
"What did the sign say?" Jughead asked.
"What?" Zach asked.
"What did the sign they were standing in front of say?"
"Goldhead."
"I'll be right there," Jughead said and him up.
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