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~♛~
"do you remember how paranoid cheryl was at the sleepover? saying her mom and her uncle were out to get her?" gracie asked veronica and toni, as she paced up and down the gym. "i think they did something to her."
"what?" toni exclaimed.
gracie nodded. "her mom said they sent her off to some boarding school in switzerland— she wouldn't leave without saying goodbye!"
"well, that's easy to check." veronica said. "there's only surval montreaux."
"if cheryl was in the swiss alps, she'd be posting parka selfies." gracie scoffed. "she would be answering my messages— her social media has been dead for days."
"wait. that's a sure sign of foul play." toni nodded. "whatever you need, cee, i'm in."
"me too." veronica agreed. "don't you worry your pretty little head."
"i need you guys to go to thistlehouse for me," the jones girl began. "question penelope until she cracks. i'm not allowed anywhere near the property, as i am supposedly 'a foul piece of devils work' —according to her."
~♛~
gracie answered her phone immediately as it rang. she was sat on the couch in her trailer waiting right next to it. she expected to hear either toni or veronica's voice, but instead, there was no caller id. she heard the croaky voice of what seemed to be an elderly woman. "she's not far away. cheryl— she's nearby."
"nana rose?" gracie asked, pressing the phone closer to her ear so she could hear better. "nana rose? where is she?" her voice was urgent.
"with the sisters." the woman let out, before the line went flat and all the brunette could hear was the crackle of the dial tone.
the sisters?... the sisters of quiet mercy!
~♛~
"cheryl, is at the sisters of quiet mercy." gracie said matter-of-factly, grabbing her friend's arms.
"how— how do you know?"
"nana rose called me— she as mumbling something about the sisters... there's no doubt penelope sent cheryl to conversion therapy there!" she spluttered.
"how can you be sure they do conversion?"
"when jughead and i were helping betty track down polly last year, i saw on the website. it's fucking sickening— i mean, what sort of decade is this—"
