The Exoneration

Description:
The case of California vs Glen Scot is ramping up, with the Prosecution set to rest their case this afternoon. Elizabeth Jones has been on the stand for almost nine hours, and the Defense is flailing in their attempts to trip her up. I’m joined by Attorney Tom who conducts Legal Analyses for independent media outlets, so please ask all those legal questions that I have no clue how to answer. Attorney Tom has got you covered. I think today is going to be the absolute *worst* but I’m hoping we get to the re-direct soon because I’m so curious to hear the Defense’s case in chief.

Twitter: @LilliansTCU
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Find Attorney Tom on Twitter: @AttorneyTom or TikTok: @TomGetsLegal

Closed Captions: On

Lillian: Okay, I’m getting sick of hearing the same question over and over again. We get it, Betty’s not a cop so she shouldn’t be doing cop things. Can the defense attorney get to the freaking point?

Tom: Interesting that you say that. If you’re bored, the jury is probably bored. And I don’t think the defense was scoring any points by picking apart Mrs Jones’ recounts of what each victim told her.

Lillian: Isn’t that meant to be hearsay though? Shouldn’t the prosecutor be objecting?

Tom: Well, the victims are party opponents, so there’s an exception. And as a private investigator, Mrs Jones has business records and interview notes that can come in as evidence. Besides… if I was the State I wouldn’t object either. Gareth Carver is eating himself alive.

Lillian: I’d feel bad for Carver if he wasn’t such a dickhead. Imagine having to defend… that.

Tom: You don’t get to choose your clients–wait what did he just ask?

Lillian: Frick. Oh, we know we’re talking too much, chat, but I can’t help it. I’m stressed.

Judge: overruled.

Carver: I’ll rephrase that, you’re honor. Mrs Jones, you agree that you had absolutely no business being in Big Sur, right?

Jones: I disagree.

Carver: So you were, what, actively being paid to investigate my client, right?

Jones: No, I wasn’t being paid. I was doing this in my own free time.

Lillian: How is she so calm? I’m not calm.

Tom: Oh my God. Wait for it.

Lillian: What? Okay, I’m shutting up.

Carver: (inaudible) … because you have a vendetta against my client? Right? That’s why you were trying so desperately to tie him to such a horrific crime. You didn’t care about the consequences so long as you got my client arrested, isn’t that right?

Prosecutor: Objection, compound.

Tom: That was all kinds of compound. Carver’s walking on dangerous territory. This is going to go downhill so fast for the defense.

Lillian: I’m gonna need you to explain why in a second.

Carver: Isn’t it true that you were hunting my client down due to your own personal vendetta?

Lillian: Obviously… wait, why isn’t she answering?

Tom: She’s looking at the prosecutors—

Carver: Don’t try and communicate with the attorneys, Mrs Jones, just answer the question.

Jones: Can you repeat that question, sir?

Lillian: So polite. It’s scary.

Carver: Do you have a vendetta against Glen Scot?

Jones: … yes, I do.

Carver: You wanted him to be arrested, right?

Jones: Correct.

Carver: You would stop at nothing to see him behind bars, right?

Prosecutor: Objection, speculation.

Judge: Overruled. Answer the question, please.

Tom: This is so dirty. But it’s going to backfire on him so fast. I can't wait.

Jones: I never stopped searching for him.

Carver: Because of your personal vendetta. Right?

Jones: That’s an interesting interpretation.

Carver: Your honor, that was non-responsive… yes or no, was this because of your personal vendetta?

Jones: (sigh) yes.

Carver: Did you tamper with DNA evidence to make sure that Glen Scot would be tied to this case?

Lillian: Oh no he did not! That’s right prosecutors, object the hell outta that.

Tom: I might have let that one go, personally. It won’t matter.

Jones: … I didn’t tamper with anything. I made sure I did everything correctly.

Carver: But you’re not a member of law enforcement, right?

Jones: Right.

Carver: So you didn’t follow any kind of legal processes that a law enforcement officer would be bound to follow to make sure that evidence would be collected properly, did you?

Jones: I wouldn’t say that.

Carver: But you’re not a member of law enforcement. Just so the records clear.

Jones: I am absolutely not a member of law enforcement.

Carver: Thank you. No further questions.

Lillian: Thank. God. Holy Shit, I thought that was never going to end.

Tom: I think your chat agrees, but I was eating that up. Look, the prosecutor is excited.

Lillian: How are lawyers this geed up for mundane criminal proceedings? That ending was kind of bad… The defense is trying to insinuate Betty was on an evidence falsification rampage. Do you think the jury will buy that?

Tom: Not after the prosecutor gets their re-direct. I’m thinking short and blunt. Go for the throat.

Lillian: I’ll have to believe in your analysis, because I’m stumped.

Prosecutor: Mrs Jones, you were just asked a series of questions about your involvement in law enforcement—

Tom: Bingo!

Lillian: What? Why are you cheering? And what does ‘open the door’ mean? I’m getting like six hundred messages about doors right now.

Tom: You’ll see.

Prosecutor: … ever been involved in law enforcement?

Carver: Objection. Your honor, can we approach?

Judge: Alright, briefly.

Tom: So this is what I was hoping would happen. The Defense Attorney has not only opened the door, he’s kicked it off its hinges.

Lillian: What the hell are you talking about? Chat, the door emojis are starting to freak me out.

Tom: During a pre-trial hearing the Judge ruled it was too prejudicial for Elizabeth Jones’ allegations against Glen Scot to be entered into evidence, and they had all these motions about leaving her history with the FBI out of the record. But he left the option for the door to be opened, which basically means if the Defense brings it up, the State can ask her about it in open court.

Lillian: Oh! Is that why she didn’t testify about it? I thought it was just because this trial isn’t technically about her. That’s wild.

Tom: And it’s about to get wilder. The prosecutor’s back on the podium.

Prosecutor: Do you need the question read again?

Jones: No, I remember it. Yes, I was an FBI Special Agent for ten years. In fact, I was one of the leaders of the Violent Crimes department in Riverdale, New York.

Tom: Here we go!

Prosecutor: And during that time, did you ever have the opportunity to work with Glen Scot?

Carver: Objection, leading.

Tom: Ha ha! He’s pissed! Door, meet boot. You’ve officially been kicked down.

Lillian: Oh my God this is great. I can’t believe what I’m seeing right now.

Jones: … multiple cases involving serial killers, child predators and sex offenders.

Prosecutor: I want to back track with you a little bit. You were asked whether you had a vendetta against Glen Scot. Do you recall that?

Carver: Objection, your honor, we just discussed this—

Judge: Overruled. You opened the door Mr Carver. Proceed.

Jones: Can I answer…? Okay. Yes, I recall.

Prosecutor: And you told this jury that you do have a vendetta against him. Correct?

Jones: Correct.

Prosecutor: Can you explain your vendetta to the jury, please?

Jones: Yes… I don’t think ‘vendetta’ is quite the right word, but we’ll go with it. I will admit I had been actively tracking Glen Scot down for the better part of six years—

Carver: Objection, your honor, this is clearly entering narrative territory—

Judge: Alright… sustained. Mrs Jones, you can describe your alleged vendetta against the Defendant, but please be concise and avoid details.

Jones: Okay… My apparent vendetta is… Glen Scot came into my house seven years ago, raped me, beat up my husband, tried to shoot him, went after my kids, and then ran away and faked his death. My husband was then jailed for Glen’s murder, and I spent six years gathering evidence and conducting my own investigations because nobody believed me, and my husband was rotting away in a jail cell for a murder he didn't commit… I had to find Glen, because without him there was no proof that my husband, the father of my children, was innocent…

Lillian: Fuck, is she crying…? Yes, those are tears she’s wiping away. God… the defense attorney really screwed this one up.

Tom: A fatal error; letting credible witnesses cry.

Jones: … what was your question again?

Prosecutor: I think you answered it well enough. Do you need a moment?

Jones: No, no, I’m good.

Prosecutor: So when you took the evidence you gathered, the evidence we talked about on direct yesterday, to the Big Sur County Sheriff's Department, what were you trying to do?

Jones: I was trying to prove that Glen Scot was alive, and that he was the perpetrator of the rapes and murders that had been happening at the time.

Prosecutor: Why were you so sure about the identity of this perpetrator?

Jones: Because I recognized the details of this case. They were so… similar to the details of what I went through, that I just had a hunch. Then I saw a police sketch of the so-called Shadow Snatcher… and I looked into his eyes, and I knew. I knew that the Shadow Snatcher was Glen Scot, because I would never, ever forget the look in his eyes when he… (long pause). So… (throat clearing) I followed leads to track down sightings. I interviewed some of the victims, and some of their family members.

Prosecutor: Let me stop you there. These interviews. Did you follow proper law enforcement procedures?

Jones: To the best of my ability. I don’t have the power to subpoena witnesses and victims for depositions, for example, but as a former FBI Agent and current private investigator I know how to gather statements and collect evidence in a way that won’t interfere with a prosecutor’s case. I wasn’t going to risk letting Glen Scot get away with this because I did something wrong.

Tom: This is over for Scot. So over. This is the nail in the coffin.

Lillian: I feel sick. Delirious.

Prosecutor: Did you ever tamper with the evidence?

Jones: No.

Prosecutor: And have you ever tried to manipulate the victims in this case into naming Glen Scot?

Jones: No. None of the victims in this case knew his name, but the ones who claimed to have seen their attacker’s face all identified the same man, Glen Scot, in a photo line-up.

Prosecutor: Sitting here today, do you believe that Glen Scot is the perpetrator that you were investigating when you handed over your case files to the Big Sur County Sheriff’s Department?

Jones: I have absolutely no doubt.

Tom: No further questions, no further questions….

Prosecutor: Thank you, Mrs Jones. No further questions.

Tom: That. Was. Perfect.

Lillian: It really went from zero to one hundred in the space of five seconds.

Tom: That right there, for all you lay people, is why you don’t try to rescue a sinking ship. Any form of reasonable doubt the Defense could have argued was just blasted into space by this witness.

Lillian: You don’t think there’s any way he’ll be found not guilty?

Tom: Not unless he can get around harrowing eye-witness testimony and DNA evidence found in eighteen rape kits. He’s finished. The jury would have already liked this witness, even with the supposed vendetta narrative. She was calm, she answered the questions without hesitation, she had all her ducks in a row before she went to the police, and she wasn’t the least bit combative while Carver tried to badger her into retaliating. And then he goes and lets an absolute bombshell get dropped on the jury.

Lillian: The jury would never have known that this mild mannered and highly intelligent private investigator was actually an Ex-FBI Agent who was a victim of the Defendant herself if the literal Defense Attorney hadn’t walked himself through that door, right?

Tom: You’re learning the attorney lingo! I’m so proud.

Lillian: Well I’m proud of Betty for getting through that. Look at her just walking off the stand like the fucking badass she is. Aww… is that her husband? I love how many cameras the courtroom has. It’s really feeding my need to know every single thing that’s going on.

……

Present Day

Jughead wrapped his arms tightly around Betty the moment she re-entered the courtroom gallery.

Watching her get hounded by Glen’s lawyer was… unnerving. Several times, he had to fight the urge to get up and shove Attorney Gareth Carver away from her. Images flashed in his mind of Shankshaw, and the many riots and brawls that broke out… maybe Jughead could do something insane enough that he’d end up inside the court Jail Cell with Glen before he was transported back to his own one… maybe he’d be able to have ‘words’ with the man, and give him a taste of what life would be like for him if he wound up in a prison half as bad as Shankshaw.

But he grit his teeth, and kept his expression neutral. Every so often, Betty would turn her head towards him and meet his eyes. She would breathe in a calming breath, steel herself and face the Defense Attorney head on, as though this wasn’t tearing her up on the inside.

Jughead was in awe.

As he guided her away from the gallery and towards the courtroom’s exit, Jughead overheard the Judge dismissing the jury for the evening, and overheard several excited, scandalized, and horrified members of the public whispering about Betty’s testimony. It would be on Top Ten Courtroom Moments on some YouTube channels, Jughead was sure. Maybe even the Courtroom Own-Goals subreddit. He didn’t care; Jughead was just glad that for the time being, Betty’s involvement in the Glen Scot trials was over.

It wasn’t a sentiment that lasted long…

Betty didn’t want to call anyone after she was released as a witness, so Jughead took the lead in phoning Alice and thanking her for watching the kids over the week. The younger kids were oblivious, blindly believing their parents’ story that they’d gone away on a late anniversary trip. But Hinton asked in hushed tones whether Betty was okay, because against both parents’ wishes he’d been watching the court live stream, and Harper made it clear to Jughead that he was to obey Betty’s every request until the two returned home.

Jughead didn’t blame either of his teenagers. He himself was worried about his wife.

“I’m glad I don’t have to testify again for another year.” Betty whispered to him as they made their way towards the covert side exit of the courthouse.

Jughead took hold of her hand as he guided her closer to the glass doors. “I’m proud of you, Betts. Everything you’ve worked for has led to this moment, and here you are facing that scumbag down and telling the entire world what a psychopath he truly is.”

Betty squeezed his hand. “No…” she said softly, looking up at him, “I’ve already achieved what I was working for. All this is just…” she sighed, “a grim necessity.”

Jughead smiled down at her, squeezed her hand back, steeled his shoulders and then reached for the handle of the door.

“Forsythe Jones?” A voice called out from behind him.

Jughead grit his teeth, huffed, then turned towards the voice. A stocky man in a finely pressed suit was approaching him, holding a stack of paperwork and sporting a stern expression. Jughead let go of Betty’s hand and turned to look at him directly. “Can I help you?”

“In a manner of speaking.” The man said, then removed a large envelope from the top of his stack. “This is for you. You are Forsythe Jones the third, correct?”

Jughead cautiously reached for the envelope as his eyebrows furrowed. “Aren’t you one of the Defense attorneys? Why are you giving me something?”

Betty let out a quick gasp, which distracted Jughead for a moment. The man before them remarked: “I’m a paralegal, but that’s not really relevant. I’m just informing you that you have been served.”

……

TrueCrimeJunkies

Your one-stop platform for Facts, Theories and Timelines

FPJ3 called to testify as Glen Scott’s witness in Big Sur

By Hazel Renee Edwards

10-06-2045

In an absolutely baffling turn of events this morning, Glen Scot’s lead counsel, Attorney Gareth Carver, chose to call none other than Forsythe Pendleton Jones III to take the stand as a witness for the defense.

Just under a week ago, the wife of FPJ3 took the stand in the State’s case in chief and delivered damning information, crucial foundation to most of the evidence, and a haunting account of her own experiences.

So to see her husband taking the stand, seemingly on Glen Scot’s behalf, was no doubt jarring for the people who are familiar with the Jones v Scot situation. Of course, watching court live streams is a very different experience when compared to being on the jury, so we will have to wait and see what evidence is presented before we gain an understanding of how this might begin to sway the jury to find some form of reasonable doubt.

Elizabeth Jones was a calm, highly intelligent and ultimately credible witness for the State. No doubt one of the prosecution’s star witnesses. Forsythe Jones on the other hand… well, he’s shaping up to be a complete wild card, according to sources awaiting the beginning of his testimony in front of the jury. Perhaps the Defense team’s strategy is to confuse the jury so much that they think there’s reasonable doubt.

Not sure if it’ll be a smart move to allow the prosecutors free reign to cross examine an adverse Defense witness, but trials have been won through crazier means. Or so they say…

Come back later tonight for a full break down of Forsythe Jones' testimony, whatever it will be…

…..

Present Day

Jughead had felt a lot of emotions over the years when he’d had the misfortune of being stuck on the witness stand. Fear, panic, anger, grief, heart crushing sadness…

What he’d never felt before was boredom.

And yet, as he stared up at the glowing green exit sign above the back doors of the courtroom, boredom truly was all he felt. The Judge had asked Jughead no more than three voir dire questions before both the prosecutors and the Defense counselors were requesting side bars, and motions, and more side bars, and now were likely arguing in the judge’s chambers, and it had been ages since Jughead had seen any of the big players in this convoluted game of chess.

Eventually, Jughead check the clock on the wall beside the jury box and discovered that it had been almost an hour since he was brought on the stand. And the jury still hadn’t been called inside.

Thankfully, Glen wasn’t inside the courtroom yet either. But at least if he had been, Jughead would have something to think about other than how many old Judge’s portraits looked like the exact same man with slightly deeper scowls…

Finally the Judge returned, the lawyers returned, Glen Scot returned (Jughead felt sickening glee at the sight of his shackled wrists) and after several moments, the jury was called in.

The only information from the tediously long arguments between the Judge and the lawyers that Jughead retained was that he was an ‘adverse witness’ and that meant Gareth Carver would be asking ‘leading questions’. Jughead felt disdain over the fact that he knew exactly what that meant.

Jughead was jittery as he stood and raised his right hand. All of the boredom snapped away in an instant. Suddenly, he was facing his own murder trial, his body shaking furiously and his heart breaking into a million pieces every time he saw the terrified look on Betty’s face…

He swallowed and sat down, obediently spelled his entire name without making eye contact with a single other human being, and waited for the inevitable. He was glad that he’d convinced Betty not to watch today. She had almost fought him on it… but seemed to realize what it meant for Jughead to have to watch his wife seated in the gallery, anguish and hurt and unbridled horror on her face while he himself tried desperately to get a jury to believe his side of the story…

It’s different this time, Jughead reminded himself. I’m not the one accused of first degree murder…

With that, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned forward expectantly.

“Mr Jones,” Attorney Carver started, and in suddenly Jughead was pissed off again. “How are you this morning?”

He couldn’t help it; a snort left Jughead's lips. “That’s your first question?”

“Mr Jones.” A stern, authoritative voice from Jughead’s right reprimanded him.

Jughead cringed and looked up apologetically. “Sorry, your honor. I know what you’re about to say: decorum and respect. It’s been a while, you see, but I meant no disrespect.”

The Judge, to Jughead’s surprise, smirked (maybe Jughead had imagined it) before nodding and eyeing the Defense table expectantly.

“Ahem,” Carver cleared his throat, “Mr Jones, have you ever met the defendant?”

Weird place to start, Jughead thought, as old court/trial/legal knowledge flooded back to him. There was no foundation… it’s kind of leading, but not really… but the prosecutor didn’t object to the question, so Jughead hoped that meant whatever they thought Jughead was going to say… well, it probably wouldn’t help Glen. Why would they object?

“Many times.” Jughead said. He felt the glare starting to form, and the ghost of Lachlan Peters echoed in his mind, reminding him to keep his expression neutral. It could turn the jury against him… it was going to be difficult.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Jughead raised his eyebrows. “A week ago when my wife was on the witness stand.”

Carver was thrown off by that statement, but it didn’t take long to recover. “And before that?”

In my nightmares in prison, Jughead thought. “Probably the night I got arrested for supposedly murdering him,” was what came out vocally.

Jughead noticed a flicker of movement from the jury box. Curiosity was no doubt perking up the mixed bag of human beings, and he wondered, briefly, what they might be thinking.

“Isn’t it true that you got into a fight with the Defendant on the 18th of November, 2037?”

Jughead tilted his head and eyed the attorney. “Sure is.”

There was thinly veiled excitement in the attorney’s eyes. “Was this fight physical?”

Jughead leaned back against his chair. “At some points.”

“Can you describe what happened between the two of you?”

Jughead’s brain was beelining towards a cavernous wasteland, the air rushing out of him in a wave of confusion. “I mean… sure? He had a gun pointed—”

“Objection, move to strike as non-responsive.” Carver said firmly, and Jughead felt his mind swimming as he processed the attorney’s objection to his own question. The Judge sustained it, and Carver hurried to re-explain. “I’m only interested in the hand-to-hand altercation, Mr Jones. If you could explain that.”

Jughead huffed in annoyance and unfurled his arms. “Right. Well, I knocked him to the ground and we got into it. You know, punching and grabbing at each other—”

“Let me stop you there. Did you punch the Defendant in the face or head at any point?”

Jughead stared at the man. “You know… I’m not sure.” He said honestly. He tried to bring back his mind back to that night… darkness settled into his stomach, and a cold nervous chill radiated through his veins.

“Would it surprise you to hear that you said as much during your interrogation on the 19th of November 2037?”

Jughead noticed the file in the attorney’s hands. No doubt a transcript of said interrogation that this attorney was clearly trying to enter into evidence for… whatever reason he had. “Not particularly. If that’s what I said the next day it’s probably true.”

Carver asked to approach, the prosecutor objected for ‘improper impeachment’, and the Judge ruled in the prosecutors favor. Jughead had no idea what was going on now, but he was slowly losing the nerves as anger grew in his bones.

“So,” Carver said after a long pause, “safe to say you did punch him in the head?”

Jughead resisted the urge to shrug. “I punched him wherever I could get a hold of him. I was pretty desperate to–”

Carver cut him off. “So this was a violent altercation, fair to say?”

What the hell is your angle? Jughead wondered. “I would say so.”

“The Defendant was injured, correct?”

Jughead’s anger was bubbling up. “I didn’t go down easy.”

“Is that a yes, Mr Jones?”

Jughead grit his teeth. “Yeah. He was injured.”

“During your altercation?”

Jughead swallowed. “Well… mostly.”

“Mostly?” Carver asked in the fakest curiosity known to man.

His head was nodding before Jughead processed the movement. “Pretty sure my wife didn’t go down easy either.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Jughead’s mouth dried up as he noticed the prosecutor gearing up to object. “Well… from what she told me—”

“Objection, hearsay.” The prosecutor said quickly. It resulted in another tedious side-bar. But Carver looked pleased with himself when he returned, so Jughead’s nerves started to trickle back in.

Carver briefly cleared his throat. “When you first saw Mr Scot that night, did you notice any injuries on him?”

Jughead replied with: “No,” and it appeared to be a mistake, because he was forced to sit through another long minute of silence as Carver finally brought up his stack of paperwork and directed Jughead to find a specific page.

“Does that refresh your recollection?”

Jughead looked up and shook his head. “Not really. The details of our 'altercation' are kind of hazy… I had a serious concussion so I lost a bit of my memory about—”

“Can you read line twenty seven down to line thirty for the jury?” Carver asked, barely masking his triumph.

Jughead swallowed. “Sorry in advance for the profanity, but,” he trailed off then read: “I was too focused on getting him the hell out of my house to give him a whole body assessment. You are hearing what I’m saying, right? Why does this fucking matter? You’re focusing on the most irrelevant details when you should be looking for this asshole. But, yeah, I think he had a red mark on his face. Like, on his forehead, above his nose.”

“And do you remember telling Sheriff Keller what you believed led to that red mark?”

The prosecutor objected for speculation, but it was overruled.

Jughead felt doom replacing the anger. “Um… it looks like I told him that Betty headbutted him.”

“And do you believe that’s what occurred?”

Jughead’s frustration occurred. “Do I believe my wife headbutted the guy who was raping her? Yeah, I have a strong inclination to believe that.”

The Defense tried to get his statement thrown out, but the Judge pointed out that Carver had asked the question, so the jury were allowed to keep it in their regards.

Jughead could tell the media were thrilled with his testimony. He watched as a row of journalists scribbled down notes and furiously texted their pals outside the courtroom. What a stark contrast this must be, Jughead thought, to see me throwing politeness to the wind after the world saw how calm and collected my wife is on the witness stand.

Carver asked a few more questions, sounding much more cautious the longer Jughead spoke, before he quickly turned Jughead over to the prosecutor. And the prosecutor… had a very clear agenda up his sleeves.

“Mr Jones, why did you punch Mr Scot on the evening of November 18, 2037?” Was the first question out of his mouth.

Jughead waited for the Judge to overrule Carver’s swift objection, then answered: “Well, I wasn’t having much luck getting the gun out of his hands, so I was improvising.” Jughead noted the jury shuffling in their seats, but tried desperately to remain calm as all of the terror and anger of that night started to creep its way into his subconscious.

“You stated previously that the details are a little hazy from that night where your initial altercation with Mr Scot is concerned, is that correct?” The prosecutor asked. When Jughead answered in the affirmative, he asked: “What details are clear from your memory? Starting from the moment you and Glen began fighting.”

Jughead swallowed, then cleared his throat, and then tried to shut down the fear as he said: “I was trying so hard to get the gun away from him. He’d fired three shots at me before I tackled him to the ground, and the entire time we were going at each other all I could think about was the fact that I knew he was going to kill us… I can’t remember exactly what happened when I got knocked out, but I know he knocked me out because one second I was wrestling him for the gun, and the next I was waking up on the floor. My first thought after that was that I had to help my wife.”

Jughead paused to force the emotions back, but the prosecutor interrupted him: “What happened next?”

Jughead’s stomach went from a boiling, fiery pit of lava to a frozen wasteland in an instant. “I got off the floor and realized she was still handcuffed to the bed…” he was interrupted again by the prosecutor as he was asked to clarify whether she’d been handcuffed before or after he walked into the bedroom, then continued: “I pulled the duct tape off of her mouth and her first words were ‘the kids’–” Jughead paused to clear his throat when the words choked him, “she explained that Glen had gone after our kids, and so… I ran to find them. I locked the door on the way out of our bedroom so if he went after Betty again, he’d be slowed down…” it was harder to speak now than it had been in his own murder trial, but Jughead forced himself to get through it, “then I kind of… snuck my way to the office, because that’s where the attic is, and I knew the kids would be hiding up there… and I saw him. He… he was reaching up for the handle. I knew I had seconds before he’d be pulling it down and I was just so terrified because I saw the gun in his belt and knew it was life or death.”

He had to pause to compose himself, and the prosecutor gently prompted him to continue. This was way more of a description of the events than Betty had been allowed to testify about, and again, Jughead wondered how on Earth this was supposed to help Glen’s case.

“I pulled out my switchblade… I don’t remember if I did that before or after I found him, but I remember I had it in my hand, and I just ran up and stabbed him in the back. After that, we started fighting again. It was… even more violent than the first time, and he had the upper hand because my brain was all over the place. I was dizzy and my vision was blurring sporadically. We ended up in the hallway, I tried to stab him again and I got him in his ribs, and he shoved me against the wall. I fell to the ground. That’s when he pulled the gun on me, pulled out the switchblade from his side and started telling me some long-winded soliloquy about how it was all my fault that—”

“Objection, hearsay—” Carver said, startling Jughead out of his reverie.

“It’s a statement from a party opponent.” The prosecutor said calmly. The Judge agreed.

Jughead waited for a moment before continuing. “He started explaining that if I hadn’t come home his plan was to leave my kids alive and take my wife so they could start a life together. But because I had ruined his grand plans, he was heavily implying that he was going to have to end us all and it would be my fault for coming home early.”

If you were in the courtroom at that exact moment, you could have heard a pin drop. The prosecutor asked: “And then what happened?”

Jughead felt his stomach rolling. “I got angry. He called me pathetic, and I said what was pathetic was that his wife was so loyal to him despite thinking he was cheating on her.”

That got another hearsay objection, this one sustained, but it didn’t seem to matter. The jury was listening.

Jughead grimaced. “Words just spewed right out of me. But it seemed to distract him so I kept talking to keep him from shooting me. As soon as he realized that his wife knew his location, he bolted. Just abandoned the house and ran. I actually tried to get up and chase him, but before I could even get to the staircase he was gone.”

Jughead was at the end of his tether, but the prosecutor didn’t ask him more details about that specific event. “Mr Jones, you just spent six years in prison for the murder of Glen Scot, isn’t that right?”

Jughead grimaced. “Yeah. I have his superior FBI Manipulation tactics to thank for that one.”

There was another objection, but at this point, Jughead barely heard the quarrelling attorneys. “Is it fair to say that you have no personal knowledge of his whereabouts during those six years?” The prosecutor prompted.

“Yes.”

“And is it also fair to say that Mr Scot seemed well within his capabilities of moving in a regular manner?” There was an objection, and the prosecutor rephrased himself: “Did Glen Scot seem confused to you after your altercation?”

“No.”

“Was he standing and walking, or running during your last interaction?”

“Yes.”

“And was he able to engage in the fight?”

“Well, he technically won the fight, all things considered, so I’d say yes.”

“He was able to aim a gun at you?”

“Yes.”

“He was able to shove you?”

“Yes?”

“Was he mentally capable of locating your children?”

Another overruled objection, then: “He found them, alright. Another minute later and…”

Jughead had to stop speaking because the air was abruptly ripped from his lungs. The prosecutor barely gave him time to recover. “In the immediate aftermath of your altercations, even though you may have hit him in the head, Glen Scot was still able to overpower you in a fight and keep his wits about him enough to locate and then attempt to murder your kids, is that fair to say?”

There was a sidebar after that. Five minutes later, the prosecutor asked the same question, and Jughead answered: “Yes.”

“And after he pointed the gun at you for the second time, Mr Scot was coherent enough to begin what you called a ‘long-winded soliloquy’, is that correct?”

Jughead nodded. “He was definitely coherent.”

“Did you notice any slurred speech, confusion or muddled words during this soliloquy?”

“No, he was pretty clear about his intentions.” Jughead said darkly.

The prosecutor smiled. “Thank you, Mr Jones. No further questions.”

……

Dear Journal,

Breonna just spent half an hour explaining why I was called as a witness, and at first I was angry. Then I was baffled beyond belief.

Apparently Glen’s defense is akin to temporary insanity. Head trauma, caused by me during our fight, is the reason he went on a murderous raping spree across two States. Apparently he was hit in the head hard enough that it turned him into a raging psychopath.

Well, that’s not the worst defense I’ve ever heard. One guy in Shankshaw tried to claim insanity due to alien abduction. But that’s probably a good example of why nobody should represent themselves in court.

Now, I’m angry again. Not because I had to testify. No, now I’m angry that calling me as a witness could be construed as ‘incompetence’ by his attorney. If he gets convicted, he could have the conviction overturned because calling me to testify was a glaringly obvious mistake. Because even assuming the jury does believe his actions were the result of head trauma, they’ll have one hell of a time reconciling it with the fact that an eye-witness (yours truly) found him to have no serious health issues in the immediate aftermath. They’ve also now heard of his ‘consciousness of guilt’ because he fled our house, and they’ve heard how similar his attack was on Betty and myself compared to the other mothers who were trapped in their houses for days while their partner’s laid dying on their bedroom floors.

They’ve heard about his prior bad acts, which would never have happened if the Defense team didn’t call me to testify.

Breonna doesn’t think that will warrant a mistrial, though I’ve heard from Archie that Carver made a motion for a mistrial that was denied by the Judge. Even if calling me was a serious lapse in judgment, if Glen was going for the insanity defense due to head trauma, he’d have to prove the head trauma somehow (because no doctors were able to, apparently), and that would mean he would have to call me to testify. It’s up to the jury to decide now if said head trauma was serious enough to justify the crimes he committed during his time in Big Sur.

Another big problem with his defense now - claiming insanity means you’re admitting guilt. That means… there’s not a lot of wriggle room for a ‘not guilty’ verdict.

Whatever happens during deliberations on Monday, all I know for sure is that I am not looking forward to testifying against him again. And I’m not sure Betty wants to either…

It’s given us a lot to think about.

Oh, by the way Ms White, sorry to report but there’s been no sex for about three weeks. Pretty sure we can overlook that given the circumstances.

Regards,

Jughead

……

Present Day

Jughead and Betty were both emotionally exhausted.

Neither of them had watched a single minute of Glen’s trial online… until Jughead had to testify. After that, against their better judgement, they’d turned to YouTube to watch just the opening statements and closing arguments.

It shed a lot of light on the questions they’d received. It appeared that halfway through the trial (right after Betty testified) Glen’s plea had changed from Not Guilty to Not Guilty by way of insanity. The Judge had allowed it, but gave Gareth Carver a rather annoyed dressing-down in front of the cameras (but not in front of the jury, which was important to any future appeals). It meant that the Defense team’s argument went from ‘this is an innocent man who is falsely accused’ to ‘this is a man who recognises he did something horrific while he was out of his own mind’ so fast that the jury surely had questions.

Lillian, the True Crime YouTuber that Betty was a fan of, had plenty of ranting available to watch online. Jughead got a little amusement from watching her replay of Jughead’s ‘sassiest moments’ on the stand while she waited for a courtroom update, including Jughead's blatantly obvious glaring at Gareth Carver during his questioning.

Even though it seemed plainly obvious to Jughead that the Defense team was grasping at straws, he was still filled with horror for the entire five hour deliberation from the jury. Betty pulled out glasses of wine and a 2000 piece puzzle for them to complete in the living room of their AirBnB, and together they made idle small talk as they listened to Lillian’s running commentary in the background.

“...and another question from the jury. Let’s see what they are asking… damnit, the audio is still cut. Law & Crime needs to get their shit together…”

Jughead fit together two pieces of a maple tree. “This puzzle looks a lot like the Blossom Maple Farm.” He noted with amusement.

Betty snickered. “Well, it’s a generic maple grove, but we can pretend it’s Cheryl’s backyard if it makes you feel better.”

“It absolutely does not.” Jughead said honestly. “Way too many grave stones on that particular Maple Farm.”

Betty giggled as she took a sip from her wine.

Jughead’s ears perked up as Lillian’s voice cut into his conscious mind. “...Tom in my waiting room, so I’ll pull up his link now… Attorney Tom, thank you for keeping us updated. The courtroom feed has no audio right now. What did the jury want to know?”

“I have to be quick because I think the verdict is imminent, but I wrote down their question.” Jughead looked up to catch a glimpse of ‘Attorney Tom’, dressed in an immaculate corduroy suit (he’d probably find Ms White endearing) and standing in front of the Big Sur Supreme Court. Attorney Tom continued: “They wanted to know if Glen was pleading not guilty by reason of insanity for the assault charge, or just for the murder and rape charges, which is an interesting question. And a little concerning for the prosecution… but I don’t want to speculate too much. This jury will want to be thorough. If they’re already up to the lesser charges then that means they’ve likely come to a decision about the big felonies. This could mean two things - they’ve found he’s not guilty by way of insanity for the felonies, or they’ve found him guilty and are confused about the lesser charges. The judge made a point of responding that he’s pled ‘not guilty by way of insanity’ to all charges, and reminded them that if they find him guilty of attempted murder they don’t have to fill out the form for the lesser charges. It’s kind of irrelevant to convict him of assault on the attempted murder victims if he’s found guilty of the felony charge. But they might just be up to deliberating on the assault with a deadly weapon charge from one of the surviving men. If they are confused, I don’t blame them. Carver was a whole mess during closing. I’d feel bad for the guy if he wasn’t so arrogant.” Attorney Tom took a sip from his coffee. “If they don’t come back immediately then it means they’re still deliberating, but—”

“The judge is back!” Lillian cut Attorney Tom off. “The lawyers are back in the courtroom.”

“I think that means there’s a verdict – I’ll come back on after, Lil. Thanks for having me!”

Betty’s head snapped up, her eyes glued unblinkingly to the screen as the courtroom’s audio came back.

“The jury has notified the bailiff that they’ve reached a verdict. All rise…”

Betty reached for Jughead’s hand. “Oh my God, this is it.”

Jughead squeezed her hand as his throat dropped into his stomach. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever happens, he’ll still be in prison… and he’s got a gazillion other charges even if he gets off in Big Sur…”

Jughead wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Betty or himself. Regardless, they both sat motionless on the floor in front of the coffee table. Jughead’s ears rang as he waited for the Judge to take a seat and finish reminding the people in the gallery that they were to have no reaction to the verdict, whatever it may be.

Lillian’s commentary was fast as the Judge read through the verdict form. “I didn’t see any of the witnesses in the gallery, but the courtroom cameras barely even glanced over them. Tom said some of the victims are there, but their faces weren’t shown on camera so we wouldn’t recognise them even if we saw them. No, TrueCrimeJunkie, Elizabeth and Forsythe Jones aren’t there. Can’t say I blame them, to be honest. But keep in mind there are a lot of victims in attendance and we need to remain respectful. I’m pretty sure the Joneses are watching this stream, though, so let’s not get too crazy in the chat. Neither of them looked thrilled about testifying, I’m sure doing that was hard enough without anyone questioning their decision to not be in attendance for the verdict. They’ve got their own case to worry about.”

Jughead shifted closer to Betty as Lillian muted herself for the verdict.

The Judge’s voice was candid and poised: “In the case of Glen Scot versus The State of California, file number 4-5-2-4-6-2. We, the jury, find as follows. On count one, first degree murder for the intentional homicide of Emil Jovanovich, we find the defendant, Glen Scot…”

There was a pause as the Judge flipped over the page. Jughead held his breath.

“... Guilty. On count two, murder in the first degree for the intentional homicide of Holden Johnson, we find the defendant, Glen Scot, guilty. On count three, first degree attempted murder of Brandon Miller, where the defendant knowingly caused grievous bodily harm with the intent to commit homicide, we find the defendant, Glen Scot… Guilty. On count four…”

Betty’s hand began to shake so hard that Jughead felt it in his grasp. He took in a deep breath and turned to her. Tears had already welled up in her eyes. She gasped, her shoulders heaving, as Jughead let go of her hand and reached his arms out to her.

“It’s over.” He choked out. “Betty, it’s over…”

Betty shoved her face into his shoulder. “For now…” she whispered between sharp intakes of breath. “Until we have to go through this all over again.”

Jughead swallowed hard as he held Betty even tighter.

……

RIVW Online News Source

Glen Scot, ‘Shadow Snatcher’, found Guilty on all charges: Death Penalty hearing set to begin next week.

By Hunter Lewis

15-06-45

Glen Scot, the disgraced former FBI Agent who faked his death and went on a violent crime spree in California, was today convicted on two murder charges, two attempted murder charges, one assault charge, eighteen rape charges including seven charges of rape of a minor, and nine charges of child endangerment.

Scot’s Defense Attorney requested a second mistrial, which was promptly denied. Sentencing will take place after Monday’s hearing, where the jury will be asked to consider the death penalty. The decision must be unanimous.

Victims will provide impact statements, and the Defense will be given the opportunity to present their own evidence as to why Glen Scot should not be given the death penalty. Gareth Carver, lead Defense Attorney for Scot, has implied he will be asking the Judge to consider committing Scot to a mental health facility indefinitely in lieu of prison or the death sentence.

Considering the Guilty verdict, legal analysts doubt that the judge will take his request into consideration. All that remains now is the waiting game to find out if it’ll be life in prison or lethal injection for the former FBI Agent.

Another trial against Glen Scot, with near-identical charges, will take place at the end of the year in Jasper County, and a trial is set for next year in New York where Scot faces charges of attempted murder and sexual assault.

……

Present Day

Betty felt cold and indifferent the morning of Glen’s death penalty hearing.

She didn’t care, nor want to care, what the outcome would be.

The weeks staying in California had stirred up uncomfortable, agonizing memories for Betty. Her children were away from her as she remained a sitting duck, with barely any knowledge of the legal proceedings that were happening around her. It reminded her of when she was held prisoner in Riverdale, being hounded by the FBI as they threatened to have her kids permanently removed from her custody.

Only, this time, the courts wanted her testimony. This time, her kids weren’t staying indefinitely with Polly while their parents awaited criminal prosecution. This time, Harper, Hinton, Alaska, and Lysandra, who was blissfully unaware of the chaos her parents were dealing with, were staying with Alice. Betty knew exactly where they were, and was allowed to talk to them whenever she wanted to. Sure, they were missing out on way too much school for Betty’s liking, but her kids were smart enough to catch up. And Hinton was surely thrilled with the fact that he was skipping school out of necessity, rather than a deep-rooted need to rebel.

Betty turned down the prosecutor’s offer to let her give a victim impact statement. It’s not my case, Betty had said politely. I’m not the real victim in this situation.

The prosecutor didn’t necessarily agree, but he let it go. He had plenty of victims in his case against Glen; he didn’t really need Betty to tell the jury how terrified she was to think that Glen could ever see the light of day again.

Jughead had received a similar offer, but he was yet to give an answer. He’d been unnecessarily dragged into this case by Glen, so he wanted to give the man a piece of his mind. But he also didn’t want to step foot in another courtroom until he absolutely had no choice.

Betty was torn between wanting to know the details of what the other victims were going to say, and never wanting to find out. She’d already lived through the attack of Glen Scot. She’d already re -lived it on the witness stand. It had plagued her for years. But she’d spoken out in court before. She’d given everything she had to expose him.

Betty was certain that she’d done more than enough to keep Glen behind bars.

So instead, she sat up and wrote down her thoughts in her diary. It was a new one. Leather bound and embossed with her name in faux gold lettering - a gift that Jughead had given her with his first paycheck after the release of Prison Letters.

She wrote about the swirling mess of emotions rolling through her body. All the anger, and pain, humiliation, terror, fear… everything that crossed her mind went into that book and out of her head as she wrote, and wrote, and wrote. It eased some of the anxiety, and took away a piece of the powerlessness she’d felt knowing that Glen’s sentencing was in the hands of twelve people she’d never met, and a Judge who was known to give the lesser sentence when it seemed there was a small slither of redemption in the convicted criminals before him.

“The Judge has only ever sentenced two people to death in his entire career.” Lillian had told her viewers on her live-stream after the verdict came back. “Personally, I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a third. But both people he sentenced to death were prolific serial killers who went after children. Honestly, I think the only reason Glen Scot isn’t being labeled a serial killer is the fact that he didn’t get the opportunity. If Juan Garcia and Brandon Miller had died from their injuries, this would probably be an obvious case closed situation. Thankfully, both men have recovered enough that they were able to testify. So… I guess we’ll just need to wait and see what happens during the hearing. Which of course I’ll be covering.”

It was depressing to hear, but Betty agreed. With one small alteration: Glen Scot was a serial killer… but as a lot of people pointed out, he’d only killed two people. But he’d definitely had the opportunity, and had even attempted, to kill more than two...

It was nearing nine in the morning when Betty received a phone call from her eldest daughter. She smiled at the name, and felt just a little bit warmer.

“Hi honey.” She said brightly. “You’re up early.”

Harper let out a nervous laugh, which made Betty instantly curious. “Yes, well… I need to tell you something. Actually, before that, how are you?”

Betty made her way into the kitchen and began brewing a pot of coffee. “Not bad. I’m not planning to watch the hearing. I think I’m going to drag your Dad to the beach so we can spend some time in the actual sunlight, then I’ll start looking at flights. Are you still happy to drive back home this week?”

“Um… yeah?” Harper said, then cleared her throat. “Sorry for being so weird, but… something happened.”

Betty sighed and started searching the cupboards for creamer. “What? Did Alaska break her iPad screen again?” Harper didn’t answer right away, so Betty became suspicious. “Honey, what happened?”

“So… I don’t want you to freak out,” Harper began, which was usually a sign that Betty should, indeed, freak out, “but… well, my math teacher mailed me an assignment because he’s an actual dinosaur who doesn’t like technology, and yesterday I asked Sarah to go pick it up from our letterbox so she could take photos and email it to me…”

Betty retrieved two mugs from a drawer and set them on top of the counter. “Where are you going with this…? Did you fail math? You haven’t been absent that long… I can call the school—”

“Mom. Just… listen.” Harper said, her voice filled with anguish. “Sarah found something in the mail addressed to me that looked serious so I asked her to open it because I thought it’d be a speeding fine or something…” she took a deep breath, then continued: “And turns out… again, please don’t freak out, but… I got served a subpoena… to testify for Glen Scot in New York.”

Betty dropped the second mug on the counter top. It bounced and rolled, then fell to the tiled floor and shattered. Betty winced as a shard hit her foot, but she ignored it as she stared directly ahead, not really seeing the pristine white cabinets in front of her.

“Umm… Mom? Mom, are you okay?”

Betty swallowed as she whispered. “You’re not testifying.”

“So… it says I can get fined if I don’t. They want to use my diaries as evidence which is kind of scary because I’ve written some… not great things about Dad over the years. But I called your lawyer last night and she said not to get rid of them or I could go to jail—”

“Harper, honey…” Betty said, her voice cracking. She opened her mouth, closed it again… then she whispered: “Honey… I’m so sorry. I don’t… I am so sorry he’s dragged you into this.”

“Hey, I’ll be okay… I mean, testifying can’t be that traumatic or it’d be illegal, right?” She let out a nervous laugh, but Betty couldn’t see the humor in it.

She couldn’t see the point in it, either. There was no way Glen was going to be found not guilty in New York. There was no way he would benefit from having Harper testify about what she did or didn’t see the night her parents were attacked. She could already hear Breonna telling her that Harper was too young to be a useful witness, and if anything, all she would be able to do was corroborate her parents’ version of events.

Betty’s mind was still swirling… until Harper said: “Um, there’s something else…”

Betty swallowed. “What? What else?”

“Well, your lawyer said she wanted to tell you, but…”

“What?” Betty demanded flatly.

“Turns out Glen Scot fired his lawyer… and he’s going to represent himself. But that’s a good thing, right? Because he’s definitely going to mess up and his Defense will be a clown show.”

And in an instant, Betty knew why Glen wanted Harper in the courtroom. She knew exactly why he wanted to represent himself.

It wasn’t because he thought he had a chance to be found not guilty.

He just wanted an excuse to torture Betty’s family.

……

Victim Impact Statements - Glen Scot Trial - LIVE

Lillian’s True Crime Updates (1, 564, 301 Subscribers)

17-06-2045

Description:

Victim's of Glen Scot are giving impact statements. Glen's defense team is trying to convince the judge he's mentally ill and needs to be committed to a psych ward, but it's falling flat.

Twitter: @LilliansTCU

Instagram: TrueCrime_Lillian
Patreon: Lillian’s True Crime Updates

Find Attorney Tom on Twitter: @AttorneyTom or TikTok: @TomGetsLegal

Closed Captions: On

Lillian: The prosecutors have asked for one more victim impact statement, so we’re just waiting on the Judge’s ruling. He seems to have been pretty lenient so far. I mean, we all just listened to that fossilised agent testify about Glen’s upstanding FBI records and the fact that he benefitted society by putting predators in prison. Of course, the jury will need to ignore ex-FBI Agent Jillian Drake’s testimony about how many agents came forward to report him for harassment after he was declared dead, but hey, Gareth Carver’s got to at least try to get him out of the death penalty, so I guess it makes sense that the Judge is letting him have some semblance of a defense. It’s not looking great though…

Tom: If the jury isn’t already pissed, I’m sure they will be at the end of this. The audacity of that psychologist claiming there’s such a thing as ‘psychotic amnesia’. First of all, it’s called dissociative amnesia when someone forgets they’ve committed a crime, and second of all, why didn’t the Defense bring this guy in during their trial? It’s like they’ve pulled a random psychologist off the streets and said ‘go nuts’. This entire trial was an absolute shit show. If he didn’t want the death penalty, honestly, he should have had the decency to plead guilty and accept life in prison. Maybe he would even be put in a prison of his choice. Now it’s all a roll of the dice.

Lillian: Um, holy fuck, did you catch the name of the next witness giving an impact statement? I didn’t hear it wrong, did I?

Tom: Your live chat is freaking out… no way, there he is!

……

Present Day

Jughead stepped up to the podium and waited for the victim’s advocate to give him a thumbs up. Twenty four hours ago, he’d fully intended to turn down the opportunity to give a victim impact statement. He’d had enough of this courtroom, and he was mentally done with testifying against Glen Scot. He was perfectly content with waiting another year to face the man again in court. He was glad that for the time being he would be done with trials and judges and attorneys and annoying journalists asking for his statement.

But then Harper had been subpoenaed to testify in their case, and Jughead realized that if he didn’t speak his mind here and now, then maybe he would never get the opportunity. Because if Glen was going to try and harass his daughter on the witness stand, and, as both Breonna and Lachlan believed, try to dig into her knowledge of whether or not Lysandra was his biological daughter in an effort to ‘prove’ Glen and Betty were having an affair…

Well, Jughead was ready to stop co-operating with prosecutors. There was no way in hell that he was going to sit by and watch Glen mentally destroy his teenager. He wasn’t going to let that man have the satisfaction of exposing Lysandra or Betty to public ridicule. He wasn’t going to let Glen get up and defend himself by using Jughead’s children.

It only took a moment for Jughead to steel himself before he looked Glen directly in the eyes.

“You’re an idiot for calling me to testify.” He started. There were no objections, no admonishments from the Judge, no heated debates or sidebars. There wouldn’t be - Jughead was free to speak openly, because this wasn’t a trial anymore. His words weren’t evidence - they were just something for the jury to consider when deciding whether or not Glen Scot should be put to death.

And in the end, whether or not he was given that capital punishment, it wouldn’t change the outcome of Jughead and Betty’s case against him. Even if he was found Not Guilty in New York, it wouldn’t keep him out of prison in California.

Jughead felt a glare starting to morph on his face, but he kept composed. “I’ve listened to dozens of your victims asking the Judge to lock you away forever or stick a needle in your arm. I’ve heard teenage girls saying they forgive you for ruining their lives because they refuse to let their fear of you control them anymore. I’ve watched a man, who may never walk again, because you stabbed him in his spinal cord, get up here and thank God that he’s alive to see his wife give birth to their child. And that is what this trial is really about. It’s about them. Or at least, that’s what it should be about.”

Jughead took a moment to look down at his notes. He grimaced, then removed his glasses and looked up at Glen as he threw caution to the wind and spoke every word that came to him. Right from the heart. “But you had the nerve to drag me into this. And you know what? I truly believe that was idiotic. And I think you know it was idiotic. Because your biggest mistake in life is that you didn’t kill me when you had the chance. If you had, then I wouldn’t be here right now to tell this jury who you really are.” Jughead’s voice became more determined as he continued. “I saw the panic in your eyes when I told you that your wife knew you were in my house that night. I watched as you realized you could be caught, and that you’d end up in prison right alongside the criminals you helped put away for life. That snap decision to run away was your greatest error. If you didn’t want to get caught, then you should have killed me. Instead you ran like the coward you are, and covered up your diabolical, disgusting, heinous acts with a lie so egregious that nobody was willing to see the truth.”

His voice was getting louder, but Jughead couldn’t hold back the venom in his words.

“And you got away with it. If you’d had the sense to never hurt another soul, then guess what? You still would have gotten away with it. I would still be in prison for murdering you! I spent six years of my life behind bars because of you. I spent six years without even being able to hold my wife’s hand. My children were robbed of their father because you took me away from them. And it worked! You succeeded. But then you made the mistake of coming to Big Sur and raping eighteen girls. Eighteen girls who were brave enough to look you in the eyes and tell the world what you did to them. You murdered two men in cold blood, not because you have ‘psychotic amnesia’, or because I punched you in the face. It’s because you’re a rapist. You heard the word ‘no’ and thought that meant ‘try harder’. You watched my wife ignore your advances, and you couldn’t get it through your dumbass head that she didn’t want you. Because you’re not only selfish, but you’re an egomaniac who thinks he’s better and smarter than everyone else. But you’re not smarter than her. Because she is the one who caught you. She is the one who realized you were doing the same thing to other girls that you did to her. And it’s not because you’re mentally ill, it’s because you wanted them. You saw them, and you decided that you were going to have them. You didn’t care about what they wanted, you only cared about getting off. And look where it’s gotten you?”

Jughead was aware of how uncomfortable Glen’s attornies were, but he was focused on the man himself, who stared back at Jughead with an anger so fierce that his face was turning red as his eyes pinched into glaring slits.

“I don’t feel like I have the right to ask the jury to decide between imprisoning you for life, locking you up in a psych ward, or giving you the death penalty. But I want you to know what I want. Because I know what you have to look forward to.” Jughead placed both hands in front of him on the podium and leaned forward. “I know that you wanted my wife to run away with you so you could start a family and live in a sickening fantasy land where she would love you. And I also know, that by now, you must be well aware that you do have kids out there that are the result of your disgusting, selfish actions. But what I am overjoyed about, is that I know what that means for you. You’re going to spend years laying in a prison cell, thinking about how you’ll never get to see your children. You’ll never get to hold them, you’ll never get to watch your son graduate, you’ll never get to watch your daughter get married, you’ll never get to talk to them face to face. You’ll know that they’re out there, growing up without you, and you won’t be able to do anything to get those moments back. You won’t be able to breathe sometimes because of the hurt. You won’t be able to think straight because it sickens you to know that someone else is talking to them, someone else is raising them, and you’re nothing but a meaningless name in their family tree. If they even find out about you. Because maybe they’ll get to grow up without knowing a thing about you, and I know that will eat you alive. You won’t be able to sleep because you’ll be wondering if life can get any worse. But guess what? It can get worse. It will get worse. Because when you’re in prison, and I hope you’re in prison for the rest of your miserable life, you won’t get a single moment of happiness. You’ll get to look into the eyes of the other men around you and realize that this is it. You’ll spend days hoping that murderers won’t be able to break into your cell. You’ll wish that the guards would just let you die alone in peace. But you won’t get that. Because they won’t let you die. They’ll make sure you stay healthy enough to live out a life sentence behind bars where you’re no longer a threat to society, a living example to other psychopaths who think they’re smarter than the law. But you’re not smarter than the law, because the law caught up to you and now you’ll be paying for what you did.”

Jughead reached up to scratch his eyebrow and realized that his hand was shaking with anger. He placed it down on the podium and gripped the edge. “A word of advice from someone who has lived in the kind of prison that I hope you’re going to: never let your guard down. There will always be someone watching you. There will always be someone waiting for the moment to strike. And with convictions like yours… well, let’s just say the other inmates don’t like prisoners who commit sex crimes against minors. And the only people they hate more than that are cops.” Jughead stood up straighter and let his hands drop beside him. “Wherever you end up, never forget that Betty is the reason you’re there. I hope you live a long, long life, rotting away in a dark hole while the world forgets about you.”

Jughead gave Glen one last long, hard look, before he turned to face the Judge. “Thank you, your honor.”

……

Transcript from Sentencing of State of California v Glen Scot

18-06-45

Surpreme Court of California, Courtroom A

Pages 16 - 23

Presided over by: Hnr. Judge Evans

THE COURT:

I have thought long and hard about your sentence. I’ve considered life in prison, I’ve considered capital punishment. What I have not considered is sending you to a psychiatric facility, because I don’t believe there is a shred of credible evidence suggesting that you’re insane, or that you didn’t understand the gravity of your actions.

Never in my years a Justice of the Court have I encountered a case like this. The sheer magnitude of your victims is horrifying. The fact that you faked your death and were able to walk through the streets of my hometown undetected for so long is frightening. The fact that you were once a federal agent astounds me. You wasted your talents, you spat in the face of the oath you swore to serve and protect. But that in itself shows how truly capable you are. It demonstrates your ability to manipulate, deceive, and hide your identity. It shows that you are well aware of your guilt, and you are able to recognise that your actions are wrong.

I don’t believe that you are capable of rehabilitation. I don’t believe any amount of psychiatric treatment will help you. You could have been one of the worst serial killers in the history of California if you weren’t caught. That, I believe, is something that the FBI representatives who spoke during the trial got absolutely correct.

You’re too dangerous to ever be allowed into society again, regardless of how many years you spend behind bars. You can and likely will offend again, and you are more than capable of evading detection.

What I am troubled by is the idea of giving you a swift end. You made people suffer horrifically, and some of those people will continue to suffer for the rest of their lives. As I sit here today, having listened to the fear you instilled in your victims, despite the capable ruling of the jury, I don’t believe capital punishment is a fitting sentence. You don’t deserve the merciful death of lethal injection while you continue to haunt the nightmares of young women and men that had the great misfortune of crossing your path. You don’t deserve to have an expiry date on your sentence, because the sentence you gave your victims will never expire.

I believe that the only fitting sentence for the crimes you have committed, is to be given life in prison in a Super Maximum Security Prison, where you will remain committed until your natural death. If you somehow come to empathise with the gravity of what you have done, then you will agree that I have no other option. Never in my career have I ever committed someone to a prison like this, but for you I believe it is necessary.

For the murders of Emil Jovanovich and Holden Johnson, I sentence you to life in prison. For the attempted murder of Brandon Miller, I sentence you to life in prison. For the attempted murder of Juan Garcia, I sentence you to twenty five years in prison. For assault with a deadly weapon against Michael Langford, I sentence you to ten years in prison. As for the charges of rape, you have eighteen convictions, and I am sentencing you to the maximum penalty for all eighteen. That will be fifteen years for each charge, and an additional five years where the victim was a minor. For the nine child endangerment charges, I am sentencing you to three years per charge. Every victim in this case deserves justice, and I am unwilling to stay any of the prison terms despite the life imprisonment sentences. These charges are to be served consecutively, for a total of three hundred and sixty seven years, plus the three life sentences, to be served at the United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility. There you will serve for the remainder of your natural life, with no possibility of parole.

……

Two Years Later

Three hundred and sixty seven years was a long time, even without three life sentences, Glen Scot was never going to see the light of day again. It wasn’t enough time for the prosecutors of Jasper County, who refused to let the hundreds of years in supermax stop Glen Scot from facing court for his actions against the women he terrorized.

But it was more than enough for Betty and Jughead. After long, careful consideration and emotionally draining discussions with prosecutors, both of them decided that they wanted to drop the charges against Glen Scot in New York.

Wendy Lang, the District Attorney in New York, made a formal statement for the press two months after Glen’s life imprisonment sentencing.

“We did not make this decision lightly.” Wendy stated to the information-hungry journalists outside of the New York Supreme Court. “Our decision to cease moving forward with the prosecution of Glen Scot does not reflect a lack of belief in his guilt. The victims affected by his actions are in agreement that in order to move forward, and begin the process of healing, the best decision for the people of New York is to drop the case against Glen Scot in our State. We feel, and the victims feel, that they have suffered more than enough during the years-long ordeal they were subjected to. Glen Scot has been convicted for life in our country’s most heavily controlled and supervised supermaximum security prison. Behind bars, Glen Scot is no longer a threat to our society, and his New York victims are five of dozens of victims that want to move forward in their lives. We, as a State, have failed the Jones family in this case on multiple levels. The least we can do is respect their wishes and allow them to start moving on in peace. Therefore, the State of New York has officially withdrawn the case against Glen Scot, and we will not be moving forward with prosecution at this time.”

Rumors flew across the media, of course, that this was just a power-play by the prosecution because the State was sued by Forsythe Jones III. There were even more rumors that Glen Scot’s decision to represent himself in New York would make a mockery of the legal system, and sympathetic members of the public were horrified at the thought of the Joneses, and their children, being subjected to questioning by Glen Scot himself.

One rumor was entirely correct - that the State, and the FBI, in an effort to keep some of their more nefarious actions from the media, had settled their lawsuit with Forsythe Jones for an undisclosed eight figure amount. Of course, Jughead didn’t necessarily care about the rumors, because Breonna happily revealed in a press conference that there were frighteningly illegal actions taken against her client during his criminal proceedings, and the settlement would achieve two things: preventing further trauma by dragging the lawsuit out in court, and giving Jughead the money he needed to support his family and their needs for extensive psychological treatment.

When former FBI Agent Arthur Jennings was arrested for outrageous misconduct, however, most journalists were pleased to see that the FBI and the State of New York had made good on their promise of investigating the corruption of Law Enforcement officers in Riverdale.

Some rumors, from narcissistic and attention seeking idiots, suggested that the Jones family was hiding something dark. A dirty secret that threatened to expose them as the real criminals. Conspiracy nutcases loved the idea of Glen Scot’s innocence, but they were woefully misguided.

Of course, the Jones family did have a secret. But Lysandra Jones’ biological makeup wasn’t a dark, dirty secret that their family was trying to hide from the public. She was, now, an eight year old girl who didn’t need her identity questioned by the masses of the public.

Lysandra Jones was Jughead and Betty’s daughter, who liked dancing and mystery books, and wanted to be a private investigator when she grew up. She was innocent to the horrors of her family’s past, and her parents would do anything to protect her.

They’d do anything to protect all their children, even if it meant they wouldn’t get ‘legal’ justice in a courtroom. But it didn’t matter - Glen Scot would be rotting away in a prison cell forever, and neither Jughead nor Betty gave him a second thought as they packed up their lives in Woodgate, sold their high tech smart home, and guided the moving trucks away from the safe-house Betty created to hide from the person who threatened to destroy her family’s life. Now that Harper had graduated high school, and the trials of Glen Scot were nothing more than a haunting, distant memory, they were free to go back home. Their real home.

Riverdale.

Alice beamed as she helped them unload boxes and directed jaded movers to place them around the newly built house. The smell of fresh paint permeated the walls, and brought with it the promise of a new beginning.

As Jughead stepped foot inside the doorway for the first time, he eyed the kitchen with a distinct feeling of mirth.

“I see you decided against getting rid of the talking fridge.” He joked as Betty followed him, carrying a box filled with cutlery and dinner plates. “Let me take that.”

Betty huffed as she handed over the heavy box. “How could I get rid of it? You looked like you were going to cry when I suggested we do away with all the smart home technology.”

Jughead grinned as he carried the box towards the kitchen island. “I hate to admit it, but I love that thing. Don’t tell Archie, but he’s got competition. I think that fridge is my best friend.”

Betty rolled her eyes. “Just don’t go naming it again, or I’ll start worrying about your mental health.”

“Ooo, right to the heart.” Jughead joked as he laid the box down. “Franz was a perfectly good name for the fridge, and you know it. Lysandra agreed with me.”

“Not so sure our eight year old naming the kitchen appliances is really convincing me that it’s a perfectly sane activity…” She raised her eyebrows and smirked and Jughead reached out to tickle her ribs. She moved away just in time and said: “You missed.”

Jughead lowered his voice. “I won’t miss later tonight.” He waggled his eyebrows, and felt lighter as Betty giggled and turned back towards the front door. He watched her, her steps bouncing with excitement as she went on the hunt for the next box of things they’d decided to keep from their house in Woodgate. Everything that hadn’t been necessary, like furniture that didn't quite fit in with Riverdale's permanently retro vibe, were replaced. Sentimental items like the kids’ baby toys or photo albums, their laptops and Betty’s beloved lumbar support desk chair, were some of the few items they'd decided to keep. Everything in the house brought with it a positive and hopeful energy, right down to the thrift store photo frames that now housed Harper’s high school graduation photo. After all, the slightly chipped iron frame was an ‘antique’, and ten dollars was a steal in this economic climate.

“Hey, Dad?” A voice called out from behind Jughead.

Jughead turned to face his son, who was growing so fast that he was inches away from towering over his father, and smiled. “You all good there?”

Hinton’s face was barely visible over the enormous box in his arms. “Yeah. Just wondering if I should put the Nintendo in the living room or the rec room.”

Jughead smirked. “Living room. That way we can subliminally convince your sisters that video games are a much more interesting family activity than watching ‘the Bachelorette’.”

Hinton grinned as he carried the box towards their new TV - which didn’t talk, but that was okay, because the fridge was more than enough technological entertainment for Jughead.

Jughead opened the top of the cardboard box and stared down at the small mountain of cutlery. Not looking forward to getting you organized, he thought as he eyed the silverware. He looked up at Hinton, who was intently studying the back of the television, and tilted his head. “How are you feeling?”

Hinton shrugged as he turned back towards the cardboard box and lifted out a long cord. “A little weird, but I’m glad we’re back.”

Jughead stopped investigating the box and took a few steps towards the open living space. “Any regrets about moving? I know switching high schools right after the start of junior year is a big change…”

Hinton looked up at Jughead, then grinned. “You worried about me losing my ‘thriving’ social life in Woodgate? Come on, Dad. We both know I would have been on board with moving years ago if Harper didn’t want to finish high school first.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m actually looking forward to the change.”

Jughead raised his eyebrows. “Hinton Jones, excited about going to school?” He placed his hand over his heart and gasped. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Excited is a strong word, Dad.” Hinton said as he laughed. “But for real… I can see myself actually going. You know, for multiple days in a row. Without even trying to ditch.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and held it up. “Already got a message from Justin. Remember my old friend from elementary school? He’s gonna get me an invite to the gaming club. I’m sure with that on the cards, I’ll be fine.”

Jughead reached out and squeezed Hinton’s shoulder. “Well… looks like you won’t be The Outcast anymore.”

Hinton groaned. “Do you seriously have to reference my rant about your literary inspirations every time I make a joke about school?”

“It’s my fatherly duty, Hinton.”

Hinton shook his head in amusement. “The whole world of American literature at your fingertips and you choose S. E. Hinton, a woman, mind you, to name me after.”

“Hey, Hinton’s a gender neutral name. I googled it to make sure.”

“On what, your fossil of an iPhone?”

“Hey, don’t hate on the iPhone. Siri has gotten me out of some sticky situations.”

“Getting lost on your way home from the DMV isn’t a sticky situation. It’s a juvenile error.”

“Are you two making fun of each other again?” Another voice echoed from behind them.

Jughead raised his eyebrows. “Is that a college student’s voice, I hear?” He turned around, and looked down at the face of Alaska, who, despite her flowing black curls and emerald green eyes, was starting to resemble Betty more and more each day.

Alaska held up her phone and turned it to face Jughead. He was greeted with an unimpressed look from Harper, whose face was barely visible on the small FaceTime screen. “I’m showing her the house!” Alaska announced. “It’s so cool. Me and Lysandra have our own bathroom. That connects to our bedrooms! Isn’t that sick?!”

“It’s sick? Do we need to get it some Tylenol?” Jughead asked seriously.

“Oh my God.” Harper muttered. Her voice echoed in the poor internet connection, but she only sounded slightly annoyed. “Do you have to use awful puns every time I call? My roommate’s going to be back any second and I want her to think our family isn’t weird.”

“The train has left that station, Harps.” Hinton joked, which earned a groan and a: “Not you too!” from his older sister.

Jughead was still laughing as Alaska carried her phone towards the kitchen to show Harper the ‘old fashioned stovetop’ Betty had chosen during the build. Old fashioned, in Alaska’s eyes of course, merely meant one had to manually choose the temperature of the stove instead of asking it to cook particular dishes. Jughead could hear Harper telling Alaska that they’d had one similar when she was a baby as Betty returned from the moving van, Lysandra hot on her heels.

“And then Grandma said that she would teach me how to make brownies.” Lysandra chattered as she ‘helped’ Betty bring smaller boxes inside. “How cool is that?! Grandma never lets me cook in her kitchen.”

Betty sighed as she placed a box of sentimental ornaments on the coffee table. “Well, you’re not a little kid anymore. She probably thinks you can handle the responsibility.”

And it’s been a solid year since she’s broken a glass, Jughead thought to himself as he took a step towards his wife. “How’s the unpacking going out there? Is Alice still micromanaging the moving guys?”

Betty rolled her eyes. “I’m just glad I don’t have to micromanage them. This one guy almost dropped the box with your typewriter in it. Thankfully the supervisor caught it before Mom noticed, or I may have had to send them back to Woodgate before a war erupted.”

Jughead reached out and took hold of her hand. “Remind me to give that guy a massive tip. Poor man…”

Betty smiled, and as she squeezed his hand, she leaned forward to peck Jughead on the lips. Groans, and ‘eeeews’, and a giggle from the eight year old beside Betty echoed like a chorus in Jughead’s ears.

Jughead pulled back and smiled as he eyed Betty’s happy expression. “You ready for the next big adventure?” He asked, his heart warming.

She grinned. “With you at my side? I’m ready for anything.”

……

The day Glen Scot had been dreading had finally arrived.

His move to general population.

Two years living in solitary confinement after losing his second trial in Jasper County and… admittedly, giving in to a lapse in judgment by shoving his lawyer against the podium… had been quiet. Maddening, but quiet nonetheless.

At least without the presence of other maximum security inmates, he could think himself into plotting a grand escape.

But deep down, part of him knew it wouldn’t work out. The FBI themselves ran this place, and if there was one thing Glen knew, it was that the FBI wouldn’t take any chances when one of their own was caught up in crime. He’d been banking on it when he tried to frame Betty and Jughead for his murder.

Nasty bitch thought she’d seen the last of him… but when he got out of this place he’d—

“Alright, times up.” Said a gruff voice, snapping Glen out of his vengeful musings.

Glen grimaced as he rose from the bench. A guard, wearing a bullet proof vest and – wow, overkill much? – a helmet, walked inside the cell. Behind him, two more guards in similar attired held out guns, pointed directly at his head.

“You really brought out the whole militia. Just for me?” Glen asked sarcastically. “I’m flattered, honestly.”

The guard kneeled down and shoved a key into the shackles around his legs. “Don’t get cute with me. One wrong move and a bullet will be in your brain.”

Glen was tempted to kick the guy in the chest anyway, but decided against it. His plan of attack should be to appear harmless… then maybe the guards would get sloppy… and he could get his hands on one of their guns… or maybe a set of keys…

But as they led him through the cold maze of concrete walls, away from solitary confinement cells and closer to the bustling noise of the inmates that lived in general population, Glen had to admit that his options were limited.

Limited… but not entirely scarce. Surely he could figure something out. Surely there was… any way he could get out of this God forsaken hell hole.

The closer he got to the barred entry of general population… the less optimism he felt.

Still, he couldn’t give up yet. Statistically, he’d have years to get out of this mess. Maybe if he played it smart, he could convince some of the other inmates to help him. Maybe they could overthrow the guards and use brute force to push their way through—

The guard opened the first barred gate, and motioned for Glen to step through. Confused, Glen complied, and watched with fascination as the guard closed the gate behind him and locked it.

Glen raised his eyebrows. “You’re not gonna show me to my cell?” He asked curiously. “Where’s that Colorado hospitality I’ve come to know and love?”

The guards gave each other a look. Glen couldn’t make out their expressions, but he was a little concerned - not scared, just concerned - when one remarked: “You’re assigned to Cell Block B, Room 6… but good luck sleeping in it. There’s a hierarchy in Cell Block B you’ll be smart to conform to.”

Glen felt his stomach waver with… nerves, perhaps? “You really let these degenerates have a hierarchy?”

“You’re one of those ‘degenerates’ now, Scot.” Replied the tallest of the three guards. “You’ll find that we don’t get a lot of say-so in how this place is run.” He added mysteriously. "Nor do we have the means to... interfere."

A buzzer sounded from behind him. Glen turned and realized that another barred door, this one locked electronically, was slowly opening.

Glen turned around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. “Put me back in solitary confinement.” He demanded. “Now.”

The warden shrugged. “Can’t do it. Your sentence was two years for the stunt you pulled in court. You’re officially serving your life sentences.” He held a hand up to the bars. “Let’s see how long that life is gonna be, shall we?”

I’m not scared, Glen told himself as he glared and turned to face the open prison door. These guys are nothing. All I’ve got to do is show them who’s in charge…

He repeated himself a few more times as he made his way past the mostly empty cells in Cell Block B. It must have been daytime, though Glen had long ago stopped trying to figure out tedious details like the time of day. Time didn’t mean anything in here…

The noise from the end of the hallway got increasingly louder as he made his way towards what would no doubt be a common area. As he got closer, he noticed that the light inside the prison was entirely thanks to the yellow lights. No windows yet, but maybe there would be in the larger space…

His lawyer hadn’t mentioned that there wouldn’t be any windows…

As Glen stepped out into the common space, he noticed two things: he was only on the first floor of an eight floor building, which was circular and had levels of tiny cells that surrounded the ground area… and that the ceiling was so high up, that even if there were windows, they were not going to be reached. Even from the top floor…

Swallowing, he looked out into the open space. Several tables were bolted into the ground, the tops scratched out with graffiti. Twelve or so men were gathered in the area, talking rapidly and loudly, as though this were nothing more than a high school cafeteria.

Glen relaxed. Just like county jail, he thought. I’ll be out of here in no time…

And then a high pitched, irritating voice echoed out from one of the tables. “We've got a new guy.” The voice boomed.

Instantly, Glen’s stomach dropped as a cold chill settled into his bones.

One of the prisoners closest to him, a short, elderly, pudgy man with a beard reminiscent of a demonic Santa Clause stood up and made one threatening step towards him. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the famous Glen Scot.” He said in a raspy voice. “Been wondering when they’d finally let us meet you.”

Another man, this one no older than thirty, cackled from the table top to Glen’s right. “Finally, something interesting to occupy my brilliant mind.”

The demonic Santa chuckled, and the sound sent waves of… not fear through Glen’s body. “Hey, you had your fun with that wannabe cowboy from Atlanta. I’ve been in here longer…”

The high-pitched voice rose above the men. “Tsk, gentlemen, must we do this every time someone new walks into our haven?”

The man walked closer, and as he did, Glen noticed something familiar about him… maybe he’d been on the FBI’s watchlist when Glen still cared about mundane exploits like catching felons. Maybe Glen had even crossed paths with him in person… but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. That blonde hair… those piercing eyes… where had Glen seen them before?

The man continued walking, his eyes brimming with sickening glee as he came to a stop right before Glen. The putrid smell of rotting garbage washed over Glen as the inmate’s faded orange jumpsuit assaulted his senses. “You’re a dead man walking, Special Agent Scot.” He said, then let out a cackle of a laugh that made the hair on Glen’s arms stick up.

Several of the other inmates laughed in unison, and the sounded echoed horrifically through the cell block.

Then: “Not yet," said a new voice, this one from behind Glen.

Glen froze.

He knew that voice. That voice… it had been his constant, irritating companion throughout FBI training. It had haunted Glen’s waking hours as he listened to surveillance tapes in preparation for one of the biggest cases against a serial killer in his entire career. That voice had echoed in his mind for days, weeks, months as he tracked down every ounce of evidence he could find to make sure that the owner of the voice was put away forever… into this very prison.

The high-pitched blonde pouted. “Aww, babe, you’re no fun today.” He said. It should have been a ridiculous sight… and yet there was something menacing about the tall, skinny blonde whose voice… whose voice Glen now realized he did know.

A hand landed on Glen’s shoulder, and despite his better judgment, he flinched when the man behind him opened his mouth again. “Chic, you know the rules.” Said the voice, and Glen couldn’t deny it any more; fear was rippling through his body. “I already called dibs the second I found out where my dear old friend was committed.”

Glen was stiff as he finally dared to turn his head and look into the eyes of Charles Smith. “Chuck… wow. How… surprising to run into you here.”

Charles’ green eyes, identical to Betty’s, gleamed in the glowing yellow lights. “I heard you met my brother.” He said calmly... then his tone dropped into one that was devoid of emotion as he added: "And my sister."

Glen could see the cold hatred staring at him through the eyes that had once been his favorite sight. The fact that the notorious Charles Smith was Betty's brother had been nothing short of scandalous when their connection became known to their FBI superiors over twenty years ago. Betty had feared she'd be kicked out of FBI training for failing to mention him. Glen had been there to save her from washing out, and to comfort her, of course... not that she'd seemed to even want his comfort, preferring to wallow in the arms of her pitiful boyfriend instead. Maddening.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for the opportunity to finally… thank you for treating my little sister with such gentlemanly kindness.” Charles continued in that same cold, emotionless void of a voice.

Glen, for a brief moment, thought that perhaps Charles could be just insane enough to mean it. After all, maybe a serial killer didn’t have the same moral qualms about the people who hurt their siblings that regular society seemed to.

Then again…

“You know, Glen, during my time here I've become a very patient man. Savoring the moment is one of my many talents. But you knew that already. After all, you're the one who profiled me.” Charles said, and any vague dreams that Glen had of getting the inmates on his side went out of the non-existent windows in the matter of seconds. “This one’s mine, boys.” Charles said as he let go of Glen’s shoulder. He didn’t blink as he moved his hands together and cracked his knuckles. The sound of it made Glen’s ears rings. “And if anyone has a problem with that,” Charles added as he took a step forward, “we have the rest of our lives to fight about it.”

Notes:

THANK YOU FOR READING
It's been a wild ride writing this. I hope that you're all satisfied with how this story ended. I can't believe this is over. I've genuinely enjoyed writing it, even though half the time I was bawling my eyes out.
But I think we all needed Betty and Jughead to have a happy ending... and Glen to have the ending he deserves.
PLEASE let me know what you thought in the comments. xoxox See you all in the next fic update!

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The Exoneration

crazymisscarly (MidnightBitesCarly)

Chapter 12: The Future

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