ghosts // riverdale

[2]

          The morning after that terrible fall storm seemed like any other Saturday morning. Birds hung high in the trees, singing their favorite morning tunes. Riverdale's Main Street was full of bustling shoppers eager to find their latest coat for the coming winter. Young families found a seat at a booth for Saturday breakfast at Pop's Diner, although Pop's himself had taken a leave of absence. However, everyone else that morning acted as if Fred Andrews hadn't been shot in the middle of that diner only a week before.

          The blood stain in the tile was far gone and the shattered glass removed. While everyone in Riverdale was back to acting as if nothing was wrong, everything was. Hiram Lodge was returning to Riverdale. Veronica and Hermione were thrilled to be preparing for his return but the rest of the town wasn't as eager for his nearing entrance. The thought of his return was equivalent of that to the Antichrist wrecking havoc upon the world. We all silently knew that the second that Hiram was back in town, it was game over.

          What we didn't know at this time was that there was a stranger on our side. A stranger that knew more than any of us ever would. An ally behind enemy lines. What we also didn't know at this time was that this stranger had an agenda all her own and with secrets as transparent as ghosts.

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The smell of fallen rain and freshly cut Saturday grass swept its way into the cracks of the tiny trailer as a shirtless FP Jones was spread out across the squeaky mattress. The blonde woman next to him stared at him with interest as her eyes wandered from the stubble on his chin to the rise and fall of his chest. He was everything that she imagined he would be. In fact, he was even better than she anticipated.

Slowly, she rose from the mattress, a thin white sheet wrapped around her thin frame. She bent down to retrieve the pieces of clothing thrown around the room in their night of fiery passion. A small smile spreads across her lips as she tries to remember everything. The loud sound of the crackling lightning in the dark sky above them as he gripped her waist so mean. The smell of his cheap, musky cologne on his neck as she breathed into him. E.L. James couldn't have written their love scene better than it had played out.

She quietly slips her pieces of clothing on, watching him as she glides her sheer stockings back up her sore legs. Silence. Another smile as she walks over to the side of his bed, pulling the thick duvet cover up his body to meet his collarbone. FP Jones isn't as big and bad as everyone says he is. He's not perfect but he's not bad. She doesn't leave a note. She doesn't kiss him goodbye. She leaves the rickety screen of the trailer crashing behind her as her pumps kick the gravel beneath her feet.

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"How's Mr. Andrews?" Betty asks as Jughead settles into the warm booth at Pop's. A slow shrug stems from Jughead as he skims over the menu carefully. "Archie isn't really saying much," Jughead says, keeping his eyes on the bright colored menu, "I don't think he's in a good place right now."

"Well," Betty shrugs as she pushes her menu into the center of the table, "his dad was shot only a week ago." The both of them raise their eyes and turn their heads into the direction where it happened. It was apparent where it had happened as the pieces of tile where Fred had laid bleeding out only a week before had been removed. The blood stain was too aggressive for every cleaner on the market.

They sigh in unison as they return their attention back to the menu and their grumbling stomachs. "Good news guys," Veronica chimes in as she makes her way to the hungry couple, "daddy will be back in Riverdale in less than a week." Betty and Jughead both raise their eyebrows and nod their heads as their thoughts are consumed with the thought of an injured Fred Andrews still being in the hospital.