FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION CASE NO: 13-8265014-99 DATE: 27 JULY 1999 TIME: 6:02 PM TAKEN BY: AGENT WILKINS
METHOD: TRANSCRIPTION - RECORDED INTERVIEW
Agent Wilkins: The time is now 6:02 PM on July 27, 1999. I’m here with Special Agent Dana Scully. Agent Scully, first off let me say, I know I can speak for the entire Bureau when I say how terribly sorry we all are that you have had to endure this.
Agent Scully: Thank you.
Wilkins: Why don’t we start at the very beginning? Tell me about the evening of July 15th.
A/N: Sorry this took so long, anon! I hope you enjoy this :)
Her breath is shallow by the time she arrives with Archie and his dad in tow; she’s on the verge of a panic attack, but she’s determined to stay strong. So she pushes the swell of anxiety back down for now.
They make their way to the receptionist. “Jughead Jones. Or Forsythe Pendleton Jones.” Betty gasps, hands clenching the end of the counter.
The nurse gives them the eye. “Are you family?”
“Yes.” Fred Andrews blatantly lies. “I’m his uncle, he’s my boy and she’s his, um, step-sister.” He says, gesturing towards the kids.
The nurse doesn’t buy it, but continues anyway. “Room 215. Second floor, to the left.”
They rush up, the only thought in Betty’s head being, “Jughead.” They don’t bother with the lift.
They arrive at his room, only to be met by a blonde doctor. “Are you here for-” She looks at her clipboard, “Jughead?”
They say yes. The doctor starts talking about Jughead’s condition, but Betty can’t wait anymore. She needed to see him, make sure he was okay, because her palms are clammy and she can’t think of anything but him. So she pushes the door open, ignoring the call of the doctor, and stops short in the doorway.
Jughead’s lying on the gurney, curled up on his side, oxygen mask on his face. A blanket’s on top of him, and his beanie’s missing. He’s in bad condition, she can see- one arm’s in a cast, there’s a giant cut, all stitched up on his temple, and the fact that he needed an oxygen mask gave her the clue.
She goes up to him, heart hammering away in her chest, taking in the extent of his injuries. She can hear the blonde woman speak behind her, but she’s not listening.
He’s in a hospital gown- and she can see bruising along his neck and down his left shoulder. His hair is matted with dried blood, and he’s so, so pale- she holds back a sob.
Betty crouches down next to the gurney so that her face is at the same level’s as his, and gingerly strokes his cheek. His hand isn’t covered by the blanket, neither is it hindered by an IV port, so she places her own it in, being as delicate as possible.
Archie comes and stands next to her; slightly uncomfortable, probably due to her intimacy with him. At the moment; she couldn’t care less.
She looks up at him, instead, with questioning eyes.
“They found him at Sweetwater River- someone working at the nearby gas station heard a cry and then a splash. He found Jughead on the shore ten minutes later- apparently he’d fallen in, or been pushed in. He was in bad shape, must’ve hit a rock or something, so that guy called an ambulance.”
Betty bit her lip and focused her gaze on the ebony-haired boy in front of her. “Where is he hurt?” She asked, still wondering who had pushed him in. She was fairly certain Jughead hadn’t fallen, and with Jason’s murderer still lurking about…
“He had a broken arm, broken finger, and his shoulder took a hard hit, too. He cut his forehead really badly, and the doctors think he might have a concussion when he wakes up. The water was cold, too, it’s almost freezing over, but they’re thankful- no signs of hypothermia.” Archie says. “They said it would probably take awhile for him to wake up.” He pulls up a chair next to the hospital bed.
It’s eight o’clock now. Fred had found out about Juggie around seven, and had immediately called both the teenagers, who were just leaving Pop’s. They rushed here immediately.
A thought occurs to Betty. “Where’s his dad?” She asks. It didn’t seem like FP Jones was around yet.
“My dad’s trying to contact him.” Archie says. Betty’s anger rages. This wasn’t the first time his dad hadn’t been there when Jughead needed him the most.
“So he was alone for, what, an hour and a half?” She questions.
“Pretty much.” Archie says, softly.
“I want to punch his dad, Arch.” She says, her free fist clenching. Archie nods. “Me too.”
They can’t do much; apart from sitting by his side- they didn’t have to leave, thank God, now that people thought they were ‘family’.
Jughead doesn’t stir once, no. The only way she can tell herself that she’s alive is by watching the repeated fogging and defogging effect his breath makes inside the oxygen mask, plus the monotonous beeps that his heart monitor frequently made.
She and Archie sit there for three hours with no incident, and no sign of Jughead’s father, either. Fred contacts Gladys Jones, as well, and the only way she can come here is by taking a train- that’ll take her about four hours, and the last train, which she was on, left about half an hour ago.
She doesn’t converse with Archie, they’re just sitting in complete silence, offering support to the boy who lay in the bed.
Betty’s eyes soon close, her head near his and their hands intertwined, and drifts off into a fitful slumber.
He dreams of letterman jackets, closets and drugs; serpents, his father, his mother and his sister. An amalgamation of thoughts swirls around, inside his head, inside a pool of nothingness; he remembers falling off a cliff into freezing water, and then pain.
The pain intensifies, it’s all over, everywhere, everywhere, and as his senses overwhelm him, he hears incessant beeps and ringing, he tastes nothing but bitterness, he feels pain, though it’s reduced, and he smells stifling antiseptics, contaminated sterility, and vanilla perfume. Wait, vanilla perfume-
He cranks his eyelids slowly open, his headache pounding when the light reaches his irises, and he sees white. In the middle of it all, pink and golden- Betty’s sitting in front of him, evidently sleeping.
His head is like a beating drum; it throbs, and even though he literally hasn’t moved an inch, he’s already dizzy. The ringing in his ears finally registers; it’s the most annoying thing on earth now.
He discerns that he’s in a hospital bed- he doesn’t feel the beanie on his head, and he’s in a hospital gown. His one whole side is cramped, he knows that movement will probably result in more dizziness.
He thinks about why he’s here, and suddenly realises- he knows who the killer might be.
He remembered going home after school on Wednesday (he didn’t know how long it had been), the shock he’d received when he saw Jason’s letterman jacket in his dad’s closet. He’d freaked out- his dad was the murderer. No, wait. He’d noticed something- he’d found his dad’s resignation letter- he was leaving the gang. He realised that FP Jones was in court the night he and Betty had discovered the car- and he recalled piecing together every little detail in this story. He remembered realising that the serpents had framed his dad, because FP Jones was leaving, and they only had the jacket… because Jason probably got his drugs from them-
It all made sense.
And then he remembered going to the bank of Sweetwater river to find his dad- and then someone pushed him off. He’d bet anyone that it was a Southside Serpent.
He needs to tell Betty, tell her now, so he opens his mouth, and through a throat that feels like it’s glass, he whispers, “Betty?”
It’s not enough to wake her, and Jughead almost gives up, with the intention of letting her just sleep.
But the pervading sense of urgency takes over, and raises his voice. “Betty!” His voice is less like a whisper.
She stirs, but doesn’t gain consciousness. So he musters up all the strength he can- as his vision blurs slightly, and lifts a hand that’s currently wrapped in a cast. Pain shoots up his hand, into his neck as he does so, but he’s already halfway to her, might as well just finish it, and taps her. More like drops his hand on her head, after his strength wavers out.
His vision isn’t getting any better- he watches Betty through a blurry screen, as she finally, startles and raises her head in confusion. “-Jughead?” She whispers. “You’re awake!” She says, perking up and cradling his head in her hands.
He whispers, “Water,” because he has to tell her a lot and he needs to get rid of the glass in his throat.
She gets the message and gets him crushed ice- he isn’t allowed to have water, it seems, and helps him have it. When they’re done, Betty speaks. “I’m so glad you’re-”
He cuts her off- there’ll be time for this later.
“I know who killed Jason Blossom.”
Four days later, on Sunday, Jughead is discharged.
He had been worried about the hospital bills- he knows his dad can’t pay them, not when he’s been arrested for ties to Jason Blossom’s murder, and everything would go towards his bail. Jughead’s distress and emotional turmoil, while bedridden, was the worst thing Betty ever had to see, but at least she convinced her parents to help him out with the money situation. Together, Fred Andrews and the Coopers had paid his bills off.
Betty’s still surprised at her parent’s willingness to contribute- they were good people, after all, even when she thought they weren’t.
The police managed to round up some Serpents, Jughead’s dad included, even though he had left, but most of the gang had scattered. The case wasn’t closed yet, but once everyone had been caught, they’d get down to the exact bottom of it.
She stands in the doorway of Jughead’s hospital room with her arms folded, watching as he put on his beanie, smiling when he grins at her.
“I’m glad we got through this, Bets.” He says, walking towards her and pecking her on the lips.
“It isn’t over yet, Juggie,” She says, smirking, lacing her arms around his neck. “And neither is your torture as well, because you have to leave in this.” She moves and reveals a wheelchair behind her. “It’s compulsory. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.” She giggles.
“No way am I being wheeled through the entire hospital in that. They discharged me for a reason!” He incredulously says, but was interrupted by a long kiss from Betty.
Trouble still hadn’t left Riverdale yet, but neither Betty nor Jughead could find it in themselves to care; for in the present, they were happy.