From the journal of Forsythe Pendleton "Jughead" Jones:
It was the summer that changed everything. The summer that started to scratch the wholesome veneer off of our little "Town with pep" to reveal the chasm of darkness lurking just underneath. The summer that would rob my classmates and myself of our innocence and force us to confront the harsh truths of adulthood in our town that had seemed so perfect until we were exposed to its widening gyre of corruption. The summer that Jason Blossom died.
On the fourth of July, the Blossom twins had gone rowing on the Sweetwater River. They were the undisputed prince and princess of our little slice of Americana, deemed nothing less than royalty at the school we attended, their reign challenged only in hushed whispers. The rowboat had capsized. Queen bee Cheryl was found, but her brother Jason had vanished into thin air.
As far back as I can remember, I've admired Sherlock Holmes. Reread all the stories over and over. His perfect analytical mind. The way his emotions stayed hidden just under the surface, noticeable only to the one close friend he loved like a brother. I felt a kinship with this man. The way he was always just on the outside of society, looking in. Even though he understood human nature better than anyone else. Or maybe that was what made him an outsider. Because he saw the foibles most people choose to ignore, both in each other and in themselves. And society could not abide by that.
I never thought it would be possible to actually meet him. Until that summer, when I traded the fog of Riverdale for the fog of London.
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