Riverdale (2016–…): Season 4, Episode 8 - Chapter Sixty-Five: In Treatment - full transcript

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,

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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
Veritas.

and please thank him
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.

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,
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
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.