Shedding Our Skin {Jughead Jones}{Bughead}

Chapter Three

I stared back at the crowd. Donny's words still rang in my ears.

"Welcome home, boy."

"I hope you haven't been waiting on me." I said to the crowd, poorly concealing my nervousness.

The man on the makeshift stage took this as an opportunity to regain the attention.

"Not at all. We were just getting started." He said.

"Now, as you all know, we've recently caught wind of a possible rivalry. Apparently, certain people in this town have forgotten their place. I say declare an all-out war and annihilate anyway who stands in our way! It's foolproof, even the Jones boy probably agrees!" His voice was loud and his eyes were wide. He was obviously off his rocker.

"Actually," I said, "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

I looked around, and found an office obviously meant for the manager of the bar, or in this case, the leader of the Serpents. It was my dad's old office. On the desk was a framed photo of my family before it fell apart. I almost didn't recognize my own smiling face, next to my sister, Jellybean's.

I grabbed a marker, tacks, and some paper.

For the following hours, I asked the Serpents questions and began to form something much like the "murder board" I built with Betty while working on Jason Blossom's murder case. By the end of the meeting, we had a lot of information and began to form a plan.

"Now," I said, "our biggest threats so far seem to be the Muertos and the Candle Wicks. Anyone else is essentially a smaller branch of these two, it seems. Neither of these gangs, however, seem to pose an immediate threat. The biggest problem is that they both compete with us for drug revenue. My suggestion is that we simply keep an eye on them. If they begin to become more of a problem, we start by sending them messages. A friend of mine has informed me in the past that no one here has a problem doing that. I am, of course, talking about Hermione Lodge. After that, we may need to be a little bit more aggressive with our messages."

A few people in the crowd began to mumble, some liking the sound of this, others not so much.

"What do you suggest?" The man who stood where I was now standing asked.

"One of the smaller gangs. Find them and make an example out of them. I'm sure we would have no problem showing off our abilities in order to remind our competition where they stand." I knew I sounded evil. The atmosphere of the bar and the Serpents seemed to cause some of the darker parts of me to become more active.

The crowd seemed surprised with my suggestion, but pleased at the idea. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was three in the morning.

"If no one else has any questions or pressing topics, I think enough has been done tonight, and we should disperse.

Everyone began to file out; some left, others simply hung out in the bar. I tried to leave but before I could walk out the door, the man whose place on the stage I took blocked the door.

He was a broad man who stood only a few inches taller than myself. He was incredibly muscular, and his skin was riddled with scars and tattoos, being showed off by a white tank top. His dark hair and inherit snarl only added to the effect; he was rather intimidating.

"They call me Pug. I was your father's second in command." She said.

"Nice to meet you, Pug, I'm Jug-"

"I know who you are." He growled. "Don't think that last names earns you an automatic pass to the top. You need to work here to get where you're trying to be."

"I have no intention of receiving an 'automatic pass to the top', Pug, I was simply sharing my ideas. I didn't hear anyone complaining." I reminded him.

"You need to learn your place, Jugsnore, and I'm not afraid to put you there quick, Jones or no Jones."

"I'll that in mind." I said, and decided to go check out my father's old office.

There was nothing special about the room, except the picture and papers on the desk. I look through the files, trying to make sense of what the Serpents were really about. There were all kinds of plans and documents keeping track of agreements and drug deals. I was a bit surprised my father left these things out.

I assumed he must have left them for whoever replaced him to find and pick up where he left off. I couldn't help but to wonder if he ever thought I'd be here. In his place. I couldn't decide if it's his worse nightmare or if he wanted it. He probably thought I couldn't stomach it, or that I wasn't fit to lead. I was never like him, in a sense. He was rash, aggressive, and compulsive. He was the "shoot first, ask questions later" type. I was always more thoughtful than him, always reflecting and thinking my way through situations. Both methods seemed to work. However, I began to wonder more and more if I was more like him than I thought. I looked at the picture, again, in detail.

It was taken in the house I lived in as a child, in our tree house. Jellybean was about five, and I was 10. My parents looked happy. I had trouble remembering if they ever were. The tree house had only just been finished, and we were putting things in it. A dollhouse for Jellybean and a desk for me, among other things. The tree house was my safe haven, and Jellybean's too, to an extent. If I sat at my desk, and pulled my hat over my ears, I could no longer hear the screaming within the walls of my home. For my entire life, I swore I would never have a family, and that if I ended up having one it would be happy. I swore I'd create a better life for them than the one I had. That goal seemed so much more achievable since I had met Betty.

Betty.

I forgot to call her mother in the rush of planning with the Serpents and getting adjusted. I couldn't believe it slipped my mind. I looked at the clock on my cell phone. It was nearing 4 o' clock. It was entirely too early to call her mother. She would dislike me more than she already probably did. Betty was probably just fine. But how come she didn't call me, or message me, letting me know she got home safe? I kept telling myself she probably just forgot because she needed to help Polly or her mother with something. I eventually settled on calling Betty. I was sure her ringer would wake her up; I knew because I had called her before in the night and she always answered. Every time.

I dialed her number slowly.

It went straight to voicemail.

My heart began to race as I tried to come up with a reason this had happened. Perhaps her phone was out of charge? Or maybe something had happened to it? Or it was simply dead?

I decided to try her again in the morning and go from there. Instead of going home, I curled up on the couch in the office.

I could barely sleep, and ended up waking back up at 6 o' clock. I immediately dialed Betty's number. Once again, it went straight to voicemail.

Was she declining my calls? Was she upset because I let her walk home by herself? That seemed out of character for Betty, but it was easier to believe than other alternatives. Having tried her cell a few more times, I knew it was time to call her mother.

It dialed twice before it picked up.

"Jughead Jones..." An incredibly angry voice hissed through the phone, "Where. Is. My. Daughter?"