All language subtitles for Riverdale 4x08 - Chapter Sixty-Five_ In Treatment

Previously on Riverdale...

You know what I think, carrottop?

I think you've got a hero complex.

Who is Julian?

Julian was to be your triplet.

You had absorbed the third one.

The spirit of Julian is
haunting Thistlehouse?

What other explanation
could there possibly be?

Now that the trials are over,

I think it's time to
let bygones be bygones.

Veronica, I have
invited your father back.

I can't believe you.

We were done with him.

I wanted to ask you about Grandpa.

Did you know he was a writer?

My old man wasn't a writer.

He was a mean... mean drunk.

You two were trying
to cover up something

about Mr. Chipping's suicide.

It wasn't murder.

You were there, Jones, no one
pushed him out that window.

What is this?

Six hours of our house.

Why would somebody do that?

Film it, and then leave the
evidence on the front doorstep?

After a brief hiatus,
Riverdale's Watcher in the 'burbs

had released his
much-anticipated follow up.

In the dead of night,

a second round of voyeuristic videotapes

had been left on doorsteps across town.

Once again, VCRs were
dusted off with dread.

And once again, they played
hours upon hours of footage

of the viewers' home.

Only this time, the camera
was much, much closer.

The implications were terrifying.

What was next for the
Watcher? Breaking and entering?

And as if those deliveries
weren't unsettling enough,

colleges and universities

had started sending out
their first wave of envelopes.

Some thin, some thick.

All life-changing.

Making it a particularly stressful time

for Riverdale High seniors.

Which is why Principal Honey asked
the school's guidance counselor,

Mrs. Burble, to offer
extended office hours.

So whatever anxiety the
students were feeling,

they'd have a licensed
professional to go to

for confidential comfort and/or advice.

Something, it turned out,

many of us were long overdue for.

Hey, Mom. I'm gonna make some Highpoint.

Do you want any?

What's wrong? Is everything okay?

You were so sweet when
you were little, Elizabeth.

So innocent. When did you become a liar?

What are you talking about?

"Dear, Ms. Elizabeth Cooper,

after careful review of your
Early Action application,

the Admissions Committee
regrets to inform you

that we are unable to offer you a place

at Yale University."

I didn't get in?

Wait. You opened my mail?

I thought to myself,

"How could my Betty get
rejected from college?

What has her so unfocused

that it cost her her future?"

- So, I searched your bedroom.
- You did what?

And do you know what I found

hidden in the false
bottom of your night stand?

Oh, my God, Mom!

You should be studying.

You should be focused.

Instead, you are out of control.

Okay, that's it. This is the last straw.

We are not discussing this.

We are not discussing anything.

You and I are not on speaking terms.

You have been invading
my privacy for years.

And it's over.

Mrs. Burble, do you have a minute?

Mmm... Yes.

Ms. Cooper, come on in, please.

Mmm. Skit-Skat?

Oh. No, thanks.

Um... I have a sweet tooth.

So, how can I be of help?

Mom?

Oh, we're in the middle
of a session, Mrs. Cooper.

It's Ms. Smith.

So you're stalking me now, too?

Shocking as it may seem, Betty,

I didn't know that you would be here.

I came down to talk
to Mrs. Burble myself.

To see if she could give
me any insight on how to...

talk to you.

This. This is what's bothering me.

Her control-complex.
Her insane overreactions.

This is my problem.

No. What her problem is,

is that she's been
rejected from college,

because she's too busy having sex.

Is that what you associate
with sexuality, Ms. Smith?

- Shortcomings?
- Excuse me, Ms. Burble,

I must have missed your
doctorate on the wall

because I don't need a therapist.

Licensed psychologist, actually.

What Betty needs is an intervention

for this irresponsible
disregard for her future.

Oh, that's interesting.

I was gonna say that there were months,

or actually years,

worth of psychotic parenting to unpack.

- Oh.
- Clearly, there are a lot of feelings here.

Betty,

would it be okay with you
if your mother joined us.

Even if I said no,
she would stay anyways.

Betty.

Do you hide things from your mother?

Well, yeah.

Of course. Everyone does, but...

- I mean, I learned from the best.
- Oh.

So you feel she keeps
secrets from you, too?

Since, literally, the day I was born.

Only when it's in her best interest.

Oh, oh, so you joining a cult,

that was in my best interest?

Not mentioning to me

that you weren't actually
brainwashed the whole time,

you were just undercover with the FBI,

working with my long-lost half-brother

who I thought was dead,
that was in my best interest?

You're a child. I was protecting you.

Then explain how giving away

my college fund to the
Farm was part of that.

That was before, when I was
under the influence of Edgar.

How about when you didn't tell me

that I had the serial killer genes?

Or when you had Polly

committed to The Sisters of Quiet Mercy,

and didn't tell me where she was?

Or when you had me dragged
off to that evil-nun-hell-hole?

Because she did, Mrs. Burble,

where they force-fed me
drugs against my will.

But, hey, but, hey. You know,
at least they were Fizzle Rocks,

- and not birth-control because God forbid!
- Context is important here.

- Context.
- Did you ever realize that maybe

I started taking birth-control

because I didn't wanna
have a baby at 16 like you?

Or Polly? I didn't wanna
be like the two of you,

pregnant and married to a murderer,

or a cult-leader, or both?

I'd hoped I'd raised you
to be smarter than us.

And no offense, Mom, I am.

Being proactive is being smart.

And you're acting so naive,

like you didn't think I was having sex.

Jughead and I sleep in the same bed.

She's too young to have sex.

She doesn't know what's good for her.

You are so hypocritical.

I was fine taking care of myself

when you abandoned me for the Farm.

Yet you keep treating me like a child.

Oh, so that's a crime now?

A mother wanting to protect her child.

You've said that several times now.

Betty's young. Betty is a child.

Why do you think that is?

She is! Uh...

Look, it's fine for me.

I take her insults.

That's my cross to bear as a parent.

But the things that she's
written in her diaries...

You read her diaries?

Yes, because she has no boundaries.

No emotional respect. None.

How does that make you feel?

Like I'm filled with gunpowder,

and I'm one Elizabeth
away from exploding.

You need to stop invading my privacy,

and accept the fact that
I'm becoming an adult.

You will always be my
daughter, Elizabeth.

And I am so, so worried about you.

- But not for the right reasons, Mom.
- Wha...

Forget about college, sex,
and the serial killer genes.

Think about everything
that you have done to me.

That is what I'm going to be
unpacking for the rest of my life.

So you either...

start treating me like I'm an adult,

or I will not be in your life.

Ms. Smith, Betty's education,

her relationship, her behavior...

I think those things make you afraid.

Afraid that Betty is growing up.

That may even be why you
gave away her college money,

because if you can control her,

you can hold on to her childhood
just a little bit longer.

Does that sound right?

It's just...

I've already lost two children.

First Charles.

Then Polly. And Betty...

growing up, leaving for college,

moving out, moving on.

It just feels like I'm losing you, too.

Mom!

That's what happens.

Kids grow up and they leave.

I can't be your only... hope.

But I love you.

I love you, too, but
that is not an apology.

That does not justify

the horrible, unhealthy
things that you have done.

How you keep suffocating me.

And why me? Why are
you doing this to me?

Because I love you.

But you love Polly, too.

She's in an asylum. She
needs you. She needs help.

So why can't you go do this to her?

Because I love you more.

I love you most.

- Synced and corrected by VitoSilans -
-- www.Addic7ed.com --

Newton's Laws of Motion...

Now, who can tell me...

Archie.

Archie.

Archie.

I'm so sorry, Dr. Phylum.

Save it for Mrs. Burble.

I'm not interested in your explanations.

I'm really sorry, Ms.
Burble. I've been having...

trouble sleeping, lately.

Maybe it's like insomnia.

Oh, it's okay, Archie.

I'm not here to reprimand you.

I just wanna talk.

Oh, okay.

- What about?
- Well, for starters, college.

You haven't applied to any.

Yeah, I... I'm not really interested.

I'm needed here in Riverdale.

To take over Andrews Construction?

No. To clean up the town.

Someone needs to step up.

Like my dad would've.

He spent his whole life helping people.

Can we talk about him for a second?

How are you managing?

I try to carry on his legacy.

You've already done so much good.

You opened up a center for at-risk kids.

- That's not enough.
- Why would you think that?

Ever since I started
trying to help people,

things have gotten complicated.

I've messed things up
and I have to fix it,

- so no one else gets hurt.
- Hurt?

Archie...

I have to tell you.

If you admit to a crime,

or tell me that you're putting
yourself or anyone else in danger,

I'm required to report it.

- I'm fine.
- Are you?

Because you've missed a lot of
football, where you excelled.

And those cuts and bruises on
your hands are not from sports.

The truth is...

I go out at night.

You mean cruising in Fox Forest?

What? No. I don't mean that.

I...

I put on a mask,

and I try to...

help people.

I'm not sure I follow.

I'm a big comic book fan. Mr. Justice,

the Comet, the Red Circle...

I really identify with them, you know?

Are you saying...

that you're having fantasies...

about acting like
these comic book heroes?

Exactly. Like there's
this dealer, Dodger,

he uses kids to do his dirty work.

Kids. And the police can't do anything.

So someone else has to stop him.

- Yes.
- To protect the community.

- Yes.
- A vigilante.

- No.
- Who protects a vigilante?

Who cares?

I don't read a lot of comic books,

but doesn't the hero usually
suffer a great tragedy,

and then create their persona
out of rage? Is that right?

I guess so.

Doesn't that resonate with you?

Because everything that you've told me

feels like it could be fueled
by grief-induced anger...

Like I said, Ms. Burble, I
just... I'm just trying to help.

But to do it safely,
we have to acknowledge

- and work on the anger.
- Why?

I know I'm angry, Ms.
Burble. I'm not an idiot.

Look at all the crappy things
that have happened to me,

to my friends, to my
dad. They make me angry.

You...

talking to me like I'm a
moron, that makes me angry.

- Understandably.
- And it hurts.

I hurt... all the time.

And all I wanna do is
make sure no one else does.

But I've screwed it up.

My mom almost got shot in the drive-by.

She was held at
gunpoint on Thanksgiving.

How is a guy supposed to...

to clean up the town,

and protect his loved ones if he's
putting them in the crosshairs?

So what am I supposed to do?

Huh?

"Theoretically"?

The behavior you're discussing

sounds like an addiction.

No, it's not.

Isn't it?

You're aware of negative consequences,

but you're compelled anyway.

That's compulsive behavior.

Forget me going out at night.

Just running the center
has made me a target.

Yeah, but you keep at it.

It's the appropriate and smarter way

to channel your anger
and help those in need.

It feels like it's not enough.

Then why not enlist more volunteers?

Like me. Or you can start
an anonymous tip line

to give you farther reach,

so those people who are
scared to talk to the police

can report things.

But I can't stress this enough, Archie.

Do not go out at night.

You could get hurt.

Your loved ones could get hurt.

Mom, can we talk?

Oh, boy. What's wrong?

I don't wanna give up on my
work at the community center.

Yeah, I know. I've
made my peace with that.

Yeah. But I can't keep
putting you in danger.

Dodger and his family
are still out there,

and sooner or later
they'll come after me.

So...

I'm moving out.

- Archie, no.
- Mom,

you don't have a choice.

I'm 18. I'm an adult.

I'm gonna move into the center,

just for a while until
Sheriff Jones catches Dodger

and things cool off for a bit.

Archie, you don't have to do this.

Yes, I do. Their war's
with me, not with you.

It's okay. I'll be okay.

You've reached the Riverdale Hotline.

If you wish to report a problem in
your neighborhood, leave a message.

Anonymity's your choice.
We're here to help.

And remember...

you're not alone.

Cheryl Blossom,

please report to
Principal Honey's office.

And the war of the red roses rages on.

Good luck, babe.

So, wherefore are we rattling
sabers today, Principal Honey?

Ms. Blossom, do you know how many
absences you've had this semester?

- Twenty-six.
- Need I remind you

and the sorry lot of
yams you call educators,

that I have suffered
numerous family deaths.

My mother disappeared,

I am raising twin toddlers,

and I am the sole caregiver for my Nana.

Yeah, well, it is for
those reasons that I have

decided to put a certified adult
in charge of the cheerleading squad.

Pause.

You're taking my Vixens away from me?

Hmm. I'll tell you what.

I will let Mrs. Burble interview you

and make a recommendation.

But if she deems you
psychologically unfit,

it's over.

So, Cheryl, would you
like a Three Buccaneers?

I don't eat nougat, I don't take bribes,

and I don't talk to trade-school
flunkies about my feelings.

You know, Cheryl, the only way
you're gonna get what you want,

your Vixens back, is
if you talk to me...

about you.

Okay, then.

I have a rapturous girlfriend,

total independence, a
4.0, and amazing hair.

- Are we done?
- Not quite.

Did you receive a videotape?

How'd it make you feel?

Please.

I have felled multiple villains
with my bow over the years.

I'm not afraid of some sad AV pervert

with a camcorder older than your blazer.

Speaking of the last few
years, have you ever spoken

to a professional about
everything you've been through?

Your mother's abuse,
your brother's murder,

your father's suicide,

your time in conversion therapy,

and an organ harvesting cult,

your near-death experience
in Sweetwater River...

That was an accident.

It would be okay if
you told me it wasn't.

Cheryl, you've endured
lifetimes of trauma.

I can't imagine going through
a single one, much less all.

And as a teenager, unimaginable.

You are remarkably resilient.

It must be exhausting.

How've you been coping?

I talk to Jason.

I talk to my dead
brother. That's how I cope.

Like prayer.

That's a very healthy
way of dealing with grief.

No.

I...

go into the chapel...

in my house...

where my brother's body is, and...

I talk to him.

And I think he answers me back.

I think...

maybe...

I've lost my mind, and I
don't know when it happened.

Was it when Jay-Jay died?

Was it when I fell through the ice?

Have I always been this way...

Fractured?

In the tomb, when you're
speaking with Jason,

how far away are you?

I usually sit across the room.

What does it matter?

Well, what's the difference between that

and people visiting a gravesite
to talk to their loved ones?

Or people who have urns on their mantle?

But that ash...

those rotting bodies,

they don't talk back.

I'm not sure Jason does either.

I think you want him to.

But you're not crazy, Cheryl.

You miss your brother.

But missing Jason doesn't explain

the other goings-on in the
phantasmagory that is Thistlehouse.

What's happening in this Thistlehouse?

I'm being haunted by a ghost.

Ghosts don't exist.

Your life may be
defined by gothic tropes,

but you're being haunted by grief,

by guilt over your family's misfortune,

- your brother's death...
- Brothers.

- Plural.
- I'm confused.

Is this a metaphorical brother?

No, you mallard.

I had a triplet.

Julian, whom I absorbed in the womb,

and has resurfaced as a doll

that's moving around my
house causing mischief.

I've thrown him away, buried him,

encircled him in salts,

and he keeps coming back.

Because he's angry. He's vengeful.

Julian's driving you insane.

Of course, he's a Blossom.

So...

Do you still maintain that
I'm not mad as a hatter,

even though I'm talking to taxidermy,

and being tormented by a devil-doll.

I don't think you're
being haunted, Cheryl.

And I don't think you've lost your mind.

Then what's wrong with me?

I think someone is trying to make you

think that you've lost your mind.

I think you're being gaslit.

Like...

- Ingrid Bergman?
- In fact, yes.

What sounds most logical to you?

That the evil spirit
of an absorbed fetus

is inhabiting an anthropomorphic doll?

Or that a human being

is moving that doll around your
house when you're not there?

But Julian...

We can find out the truth
about Julian's existence

with a swab of your saliva.

You can't have any of my
bodily fluids, you succubus.

It's for a chimerism lab.

A test that shows whether a
person absorbed a fetus in the womb

by analyzing if they have

one set of DNA or two.

If I were to guess, you
aren't going to test positive.

You mean to tell me this test
has existed this whole time?

Mmm-hmm. I'm going to give you
the number of a doctor I know

who can perform the test.

I'll give her a heads up that
she might be expecting you.

So...

what about my precious Vixens?

Can I keep them?

As a counselor, I think
you've done A-plus work.

As an administrator,

Cheryl, I'm sorry.

I'm going to recommend to Principal
Honey that he bring in a coach...

to supervise the Vixens

while you focus on you,

for a little while.

Mija, can you come here a minute?

What do you want, Daddy?

To tell me about another
secret love-child?

No, I need your keen eye.

- Is this centered?
- Mmm-hmm.

Maravillosa, don't you think?

Hmm.

The first bottle of
Lodge Rum I ever produced.

And second to you

and my diploma from Harvard University,

my proudest achievement.

I'm late for school.

Oh, speaking of Cambridge, didn't
you apply to Harvard Early Action?

I should be hearing anon.

- Hmm.
- Now, if you'll excuse me,

Microeconomics waits for no one.

Game Theory's all about strategy.

And, yeah, it's big in Econ,

but it's also been applied to war...

Oh, my God. I'm sorry.
I have to take this.

Good afternoon, Dean Kingsley.
To what do I owe the pleasure?

Ms. Luna, I know it's unorthodox,

but as Dean of Admissions,

I wanted to give you
a personal heads up.

Congratulations on your acceptance
to Harvard's class of 2024.

Yes!

Yes!

Thank you so much, Dean Kingsley.

August can't come soon enough.

Indeed. Now, will you give
my regards to your father,

and please thank him for
the rum he sent. Veritas.

Son of a...

Butter Flinger?

I think I know why you're here.

Are there any updates I
need to make to your file?

Regarding, say... Harvard?

Oh.

Uh, yes, actually. I got in.

Congratulations, Veronica.

If I'm not mistaken, that
was your dream school.

It was.

Now it's my nightmare.

Aren't you proud of this
milestone achievement?

No, I didn't achieve Harvard.

Once again, my father
meddled in my affairs,

and apparently, bought my way
into their ivy-covered walls,

with rum, threats,
money, charm, who knows.

It's humiliating and infuriating.

Infuriating because he didn't
think you can do it on your own.

No.

Because now, I'll never know
if I could do it on my own.

Is it possible he was
actually trying to just help?

My father has a bank vault for a heart.

He did this to prove he can

and always will control me.

And do you feel this control is
him punishing you for something?

Was King Lear's ego gossamer thin? Yes.

This is what he does.

He fake-sold me two businesses,

and then conned me into running them.

Successfully, might I add.

Then charged me protection.

He lured my boyfriend into
crime, and then tried to kill him

in front of a crowd at
an illegal boxing match.

He had my mother arrested,
and the piece de resistance,

he brought his secret
illegitimate daughter

back to Riverdale to
try and make me jealous.

Well, blow winds and crack your cheeks,

because Veronica Luna
is no one's Cordelia.

Are you jealous...

of your sister?

Absolutely not.

She can have him. They
deserve each other.

Yet I'm sensing animosity.

"Sensing"? I despise that man.

I want nothing to do with him.

But you willingly live at home.

Well, yes, but...

You obediently come when he calls you.

Veronica, I don't think this is hate.

It's obsession.

You and your father are
obsessed with each other.

You're diagnosing me with Daddy issues?

How very Intro-to-Psych.

I'm saying, your connection...

goes far beyond that of
a typical father-daughter.

It's primal. Cosmic.

He sees you as an extension of himself,

which is why he'll
never fully let you go.

And you see him as
your ideal future self.

No, that's baseless.

I have no desire to become my father.

You're a straight-A student,

you run two flourishing businesses,

you just got admitted into Harvard.

I mean, maybe that's
your base resentment.

He is an abjectly bad person.

I have zero respect for him.

And yet he has instilled in you a drive

that is perhaps the reason
why you are so successful.

He's taken more than he's ever given.

My old friend Dr. Freud

has two diagnoses

that seem pertinent to your situation.

The Oedipus and Electra complexes.

I've always seen the drama
in my life as Shakespearean.

Not the stuff of Greek tragedy.

But please, enlighten me.

You're locked in a constant battle
for identity with your father.

You're driven by
compulsive forces like love,

sexuality, obsession.

I'm not stabbing my
eyes out for any man.

Acknowledging that the tether exists

is the first step towards breaking it.

Electra murdered Agamemnon.

What are you saying, Mrs. Burble?

Obviously, I'm not suggesting murder.

But rather, to cut
ties with him for good.

He's trolling you.

So why not ghost him?

No offense,

Mrs. Burble, but your "teen-speak"

could use an update.

As could your advice.

I've tried that repeatedly.

Well, it only works if you
actually want to walk away.

Do you?

Yes.

Well, obviously, I think you
should say yes to Harvard.

But moving forward,

I recommend that no matter what,

you do not engage with
your father on his terms.

You may be his hubris,

but he can't be yours, or
else he will be your downfall.

I really, really wanna go to Harvard.

You're locked in a dance of
death with your father, Veronica.

So my last question is this.

Who's leading?

Him or you?

You're late.

Apparently, I'm not the only one.

Don't we have a seminar today?

I dismissed the others
to continue writing.

You haven't even started.

Yeah, okay. I know I was supposed
to turn in pages this week.

You were offered an
opportunity here, Mr. Jones.

Frankly, you have squandered it.

I've been told you haven't even
applied to any colleges yet.

Okay, I'm sorry.

My plate's been stacked.

I can still apply for regular admission.

And yet I can't imagine
any teachers here

writing a letter of recommendation

for such an apathetic student.

You might wanna beg the indulgences

of your teachers at
your public alma mater,

vis-a-vis your future matriculations.

How long does it usually
take to get a transcript?

I'm sure Ms. Bell is
going as fast as she can.

But while we wait, why don't
we just have a little chat?

Uh... no.

I have a hard Holden-Caulfield
stance on phony small-talk. Thanks.

Do you often use fictional references
to make sense of your situation?

Yes. Yes, I do.

I heard about your
teacher, Mr. Chipping.

Public suicide, that's, uh, tragic.

He didn't kill himself. He was
murdered, by suicide, I guess.

- Who knows what they're capable of?
- Who?

Uh, DuPont. And the students.
They convinced him to jump.

Because I'm on the cusp of
bringing down their empire.

- Which empire?
- Baxter Brothers.

My grandfather created them.

As in inspired the characters?

No. As in he wrote the first book.

And then DuPont stole the
franchise out from under him.

Now, he's got us competing
to ghostwrite the next one.

But what's the point? It's rigged.

He's a thief. And he has a grudge

against anyone with the name Forsythe.

Starting with my grandfather, the first.

Or you have a persecution complex.

Are you paranoid, chasing windmills?

So you have a reasonable excuse

to neglect your real work, writing?

Oh, is that your advice
after everything I just said?

- Just, "Do your homework, kid."
- Well, I'm wondering

if the real reason why you're so focused

on proving that the Baxter Brothers

belongs to your family

is because you're afraid.

Are you insecure about
your own talent as a writer?

I'm not gonna be psychoanalyzed

by someone who doesn't know the
phrase "tilting at windmills."

It's about recognition.

It's about not letting some ascot
steal my family's achievements.

You know, my grandfather
could've been Gatsby-rich.

You know what he was instead?

He was a mean drunk who
beat my father in a trailer.

But from what you're describing,

this investigation

is trying to get those very
things you claim to hate.

An inheritance, status, prestige.

I'm not trying to be like them.

No, clearly. Better not to try at all.

Fulfil their expectation
that you're a bum,

then claim that they
didn't give you a chance.

That is the easy path.

Now, your father, on the other hand,

he took a harder one.

Good. The designated
dad-part of this lecture.

He's a Sheriff now.

Came from a poor household

with an abusive father, and did
the work to transform himself.

And sacrificed, so you could succeed.

I bet he was very supportive
of you going to Stonewall Prep.

Yeah, practically dragged me there.

And you repay him by going
on this quest to prove

that the man that caused
him immeasurable pain

is some kind of wronged hero.

How do you think that makes him feel?

Maybe instead of
lionizing your grandfather,

you should try seeing him
through your father's eyes.

I won't think you less smart if...

you admit that I'm right.

You're right.

My poor dad.

I'm so selfish.

No.

You're just a high school
senior from Riverdale.

You're busy.

Maybe I should...

put down the conspiracy
theories and just do my homework.

You're underpaid, aren't you?

And overqualified.

Which means I don't expect
anyone to change habits overnight.

If you're going to see this mystery

about the Baxter Brothers'
authorship through,

then don't fall back on
conjecture or righteous anger.

Do the work. You know,

investigate.

Now let's see where
those transcripts are.

Oh, and just... take the rest
of it. You're my last one today.

Hey, boy. I've missed
seeing you around the house,

typing away on that thing...

Whoa... what's all this?

I love you. And I appreciate
everything that you've done for me. I...

I don't think I say that enough.

Elizabeth, perfect timing.
The boys are out back,

and the casserole's almost
ready. Set the table?

Why are you looking at me
like that? Come on. Chip chop.

I love you most, too, Mom.

Hi, um, my name is... I don't wanna say.

But I live in the apartment building
at the north end of Sketch Alley,

and the man who lives down the
hall, I think he hits my mom.

I think she needs help.

Please, I need help.

T.T., I got my results.

From Highsmith College? I
thought you were already accepted.

No, silly lovebug. My
chimerism test results.

Promise me, no matter what the contents

of this envelope, you're here for me.

Cheryl, I have no idea
what you're talking about,

but I love you, and nothing
would ever change that.

Negative. Negative!

T.T., I'm 100% Cheryl Marjorie Blossom.

Babe, I love seeing you this
happy, but what does that mean?

It means that Burble was right.

Fact. I'm not crazy. I'm not haunted.

Maybe there once was a Julian
in my mother's mortal womb,

but I didn't absorb him.

That's amazing.

But how do we explain the
weirdness around Thistlehouse?

Mrs. B enlightened me to the realization

that most likely someone
is trying to drive me mad.

But once I find out who
this depraved monster is,

I will unleash a wrath
upon them so wicked,

they will wish they had been
consumed in their mother's womb.

Veronica!

What's the matter, Daddy?

Why did I get a call from Dean Kingsley

informing me that you turned
down your acceptance to Harvard?

Please tell me he's sorely mistaken.

There has been no mistake.

I won't be a crimson come fall.

Besides, I look better
in Yale blue, anyway.

Oh! Are you insane?

No one rejects Harvard.

- It was your dream.
- One of my dreams.

Yes. But then you ruined it for me.

Walking through those ivory towers,

I'd be letting you dictate
the rest of my life.

I'd graduate, get my MBA from Oxford,

run a Fortune 500, make the
cover of Fibes, obviously.

The next 20 years would
be mapped out by you.

I'm finished living
your version of my life.

You don't get to own my future.

So consider the ties that bind... cut.

Really? And what do you
think you'll do now, mija?

Walk away from me?

You've never been able to do that.

You're right. It would
appear we're locked

in a twisted Greek tragedy.

But my guidance counselor told me...

that there is one way to end this.

I have to kill you.

Don't worry. I wouldn't stoop
to your level to murder. No.

I'm going to kill you on the
battlefield you cherish above all others.

Business.

I'm going to take you on
head-to-head, and destroy you.

Just like Oedipus and
Electra did to their daddies.

And when I'm done,

I will bury your battered
and beaten carcass

and be free of you...

once and for all.

This bottle I cracked open

is a lot better than the swill
you've been making recently, Daddy.

But my rum...

will be far superior.

These are really great, Jug.

You really captured the
essence of the Baxter Brothers,

but you made it your own.

And I caught up on all
my college applications.

So wait, I wanna show you something.

This...

An article I found from 2002.

"Novelist Theodore Weisel
drowns in yachting accident."

Why does that name sound familiar?

He was in the Quill and Skull
literary society with my grandfather.

I tracked down all the original members.

Yeah, of course, they
could tell you something

about what your grandad and
DuPont were like back then.

But guess what? Theodore's not the
only one who suffers an accident.

This one is from 1978.

Drove off a bridge.

This one's from 1994.
Mechanical failure.

In fact, DuPont and my MIA grandfather

are the only ones of the
society who are not dead.

Which begs the question, are these
all horrible, suspicious accidents...

Or murders?

Jug, if you're right,
you need to transfer.

I can't. We're so close to this.

- I can feel it.
- Yeah.

That's what I'm afraid of.

Are you sure these are the three
suspects you saw that night?

It's definitely them.

Those are the kids we saw kill Jughead.

- Synced and corrected by VitoSilans -
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