Young Gods || [Not Updating]

•8•

[chapter eight]

Jughead's mystery informant turns out to be a seventy-two year old woman called Serenity.

Her apartment is about the size of Veronica's living room at the Four Seasons and every single inch of it is covered in some sort of homely clutter.

"Ms. Button, I'm Jughead Jones. We spoke on the phone." He holds his hand out for her to shake. A real gentleman. "You said you wanted to talk about Hiram Lodge."

Serenity straightens up, all five-foot two of her, and gestures for them to follow her into the living room. Once they've settled down, she brings them a jug of juice and a plate of freshly bought cookies.

"Thank you." Veronica says, eager to get into it. "So, how do you know Hiram Lodge?"

"Same way most people know him, I heard about him on the news. Didn't need to hear much to know that he was an evil man. Men like that, they've got signs you know. Tells." Serenity sniffs. "Took a little longer for me to find out my boy had fallen for his evil. Longer than that to really understand what evil means."

Veronica swallows. "Your son lost money?"

"My son, god bless his soul, was a good boy. He just had no sense. Always chasing a dream of being rich, not caring about everything he had in his life." She sighs. "He put everything he had into that man's scheme. Every cent. My mama used to tell me about the Great Depression. Don't think I've ever really understood that sort of pain until I saw it on my son's face."

They're sat less than a foot away from each other. Veronica and the woman her father hurt. There are thousands like Serenity up and down the country. Hundreds of thousands maybe. The little people who don't make it on the news.

"Was," Jughead says.

"What?" Veronica looks at him and tries to work out why he won't meet her eye.

"Her son was a good boy."

Serenity looks down at her hands, old and curled by years of illness into claws, and lets out a deep breath. As if by magic, all the anger and strength disappears. She ages in front of Veronica's eyes.

"I tried to help them when it happened. Wasn't the first time he'd lost big and sure as hell wasn't going to be the last. It's just, it was so much money. They sold up, moved somewhere smaller. I sold up, moved here. Still wasn't enough. I heard that he pawned his wedding ring but he never had the nerve to tell me that himself. They started struggling to pay for the house. His wife took more shifts but she couldn't keep them afloat. His boy, my grandson, starting working at that drive in. Gave every cent to his dad."

The familiarity in the woman's name clicks in Veronica's head. Ben. This is his grandmother. The young, chubby-faced boy in the photos that surround the room. All Ben.