A/N: Pat on the back to myself for finally finding the motivation to write this. Keep in mind this is only the introductory chapter, so don't be super disappointed if there's no DPS action yet. And yes, I will also clarify that Francis is Mr. Nolan's granddaughter. So enjoy, review, whatever. And I will only say this once... IdonotownDeadPoetsSociety.
For the last time in Francis Nolan's 17 years of living, she sat at the vanity set in her small, almost decaying room. The walls, once painted the color of pink frosting, now were faded into a color almost as gloomy as the grey skies outside her window. Her bed was stripped, and her soft red gingham sheets were folded neatly atop of her small twin bed. Other than her bed and vanity set, the only piece of décor or furniture of any sort was her wooden dresser, that had recently been gutted of the most important things it contained.
Francis had been instructed to only bring the things that were the most important to her. Everything else was to be sold, thrown away, or left behind. Not that she minded. She didn't want to take many memories of this cruel place with her, anyway.
As she sat at her vanity set, she looked at her reflection in the oval mirror. Her hair was still contained in her pin curl clips from the night before. One by one, she delicately took these clips out of her honey blonde hair and placed them into a small, wooden box. Next to the wooden box was another box, this one being plastic and mint green. Inside the plastic box, Francis' makeup collection resided. It wasn't a bountiful assortment. Some mascara, a few tubes of red lipstick, a small compact mirror, and a bottle of perfume. The basics.
Francis continued to strategically take out the last of the clips, letting strands of her well coiffed hair slip out of the containment of the clips. Once she removed the last of them, she closed the wooden box and reached into her plastic one and extracted her mascara. She took her time pulling out her lashes, letting the dark substance brighten her cold, grey eyes. Finishing the job, she placed the mascara back into the box and replaced it with a tube of the brightest red lipstick she owned. She applied it generously, trying to cover up her quivering lips the best she could.
When at last she was satisfied with her appearance, she took the two boxes off the vanity set and placed them inside one of the two large suitcases that where placed next to her bed. The first suitcase of the two contained possessions such as clothing and the like, an the second one contained her records and record player, as well as a few other personal items she just couldn't let go of. Next to these suitcases was her acoustic guitar, carefully nestled into it's case.
If there had been one thing that held Francis together throughout her short life so far, it would have been music. Aside from her mother, it had been the only guiding voice during her wicked childhood. After she had spent days and nights in silent agony, her only relief was to bury herself in a sonic world. Her favorites were the blues singers who sung jazz, like Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald, as well as the men who strummed solemnly on their guitars, crooning of hard days and lost loves.
As Francis secured her bags for the last time, she took a shaky breath and reached underneath her bed. She pulled out a shoe box, which contained white mary jane pumps she had never worn before. She received them as a gift from her mother for her birthday last December, but had been unable to bring herself to wear them, in fear of damaging their immaculate surface. Now it was late July, and she was finally taking them out of the box.
Slipping the shoes on, she felt a chill go up the back of her spine. Breathing heavily, she buckled them and stood up. They matched her black dress with pink floral decal surprisingly well. Francis examined her perfectly put together form one last time, and began to collect her suitcases off the ground.
After she put her guitar case over her back and gathered her suitcases, she began to approach her door. Before she was about to exit, she took one last look into the only room she had ever known. Her whole life story was in here, and it felt strange to be leaving. It felt like there was a ghost of her in here somewhere, perhaps hiding in her closet, waiting to continue living the life Francis would leave behind.
Taking one last quivering breath, she turned away from the sad pink room and moved down the hallway. She did not bother to look into any other room of the house. There was no need. Each area of the small house, much like her room, was haunted by the past. Something that Francis tried to avoid at all costs. Although it was the only home she ever knew, it almost felt more like a nightmare.
Furniture still clung to barren areas of the rooms she passed by on her way out. They looked ghastly, and she felt sorry for the people who would move in next. The people who would use this furniture, thinking it a blessing to have a move-in residence. They would never know the stories these walls could tell.
However, Francis did make one stop in one of the rooms as she made her way to exit. She moved across the living room, making her way to the kitchen. All the electricity and appliances had been shut off, and the light coming in the large window above the sink was pale and dim. The view, however, was what Francis had come to see.
The kitchen window was the only window in the house that did not have a direct view of the towering pine trees outside the house. Instead, the landscape outside the window was a breathtaking scene of the small lake the house rested upon. Lake Dawn, it was called.
Francis did not know why she brought herself to the window. The lake, while beautiful, was also ominous. It had been that way ever sense she could remember. The cold, dark waters held terrifying creatures when she was a little girl. Now, it still held the remains of terrifying creatures, but they where no longer products of her imagination.
Holding back tears, Francis backed away from the window. She could no longer look at Lake Dawn. Lake Dawn, the place her mother was stripped from her, and the place where her father had finally gotten rid of his own cowardly, wretched soul.
Francis checked her small watch, and realized that her ride would be pulling up the long, dirt driveway any moment now. She was eastern bound, summoned by the only person who could take custody of her during her final months of being 17. Her stuffy grandfather, who had shipped her out to Middletown, Delaware for as many Christmases as she could remember. Now, this small New England town would have to be her makeshift home until she could finally work her way into the world.
Francis made her way to the door, crossing the living room once again. She looked across the wasteland of a house one last time. She faltered, but eventually she turned her head away from the desolate scene and opened the door.
As she stepped outside, she was greeted with a familiar breath of thick and moist air. Fog hung over and around the pines surrounding the small house, which toward over the it like menacing giants. Washington, she had to admit, was a gorgeous place, when she wasn't thinking of all the ways it had slowly killed, literally, everyone in her family except herself. She was lucky she managed to escape in one piece.
Standing on the small wooden porch, Francis checked her watch once again. It was 11:32. She had expected her ride, Mr. Southernland, to arrive any moment. He was the only person for miles who agreed to take her to Port Angeles, the city about a 15 minute drive north from Lake Dawn where she was to catch her train heading east.
Moments later, Francis heard the unmistakable sound of wheels turning against the damp gravel.
Mr. Southernland slowly pulled his truck up the drive and stopped the vehicle. As Francis began to make her way towards the truck, he hopped out of the drivers seat and came running towards Francis.
"Now wait just a moment, young lady," he exclaimed with a slight smirk. "If you think I'd let you carry all of this heavy luggage through the dirt, I'd be a little disappointed in you."
Francis, although appreciative of the gesture, wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "Well Mr. Southernland, no need for that. I'd be glad if you took them. I have enough lugging them around ahead of me."
He chuckled and gathered her belongings. "Is this all you're taking with you?" he asked, almost in disbelief.
"Yeah, I travel light. Besides, I don't really want many souvenirs from this place, anyway."
Mr. Southernland nodded, and his expression turned sober as he made his way to the truck and placed the luggage in the back. He opened the door for Francis, and gestured for her to enter.
Francis took one last look at the house she was leaving behind. Ever since she was little, she had been dreaming of this moment. The moment when she would finally get to leave this constricting world of rural Washington and experience the world. But never had she expected it to happen like this, for the ending of this chapter of her life to feel so empty and weak. She thought her exit would be one of triumph, and not of sorrow.
Mr. Southernland and Francis rode together in silence for the first half of the drive. Finally, Francis spoke up.
"So are you going to miss me, Mr. Southernland? You know, with me always playing my guitar in the row boat in the middle of the lake too loud... and me always setting off fireworks in the summer..." She gave him a weak smile.
"Oh, darling, you bet I'll miss you. Listen…" he said, his voice beginning to trail off uncertainly. "I-I don't… I'm really sorry about what happened to your parents. I just can't even imagine… but you'll be taken good care of out there in Delaware, I'm sure."
Francis scowled a bit. "I believe you've made a small mistake there, Mr. Southernland. You shouldn't be concerned about my parents, plural, but rather my parent. I could care less about my father. He can rot in hell."
Both passengers of the car were silent as Port Angeles slowly began to gather around them. Mr. Southerland took a right turn towards the train station, and nervously began to reply.
"I'm sorry, darling. I really am. I wish there was something I could have done. But some days, the best we can do is try to hang on to what we have."
"Which would be my music, I suppose, and my pin curl clips," Francis retorted bitterly. She continued on as they pulled up towards the train station. "Now, Mr. Southernland, I'd hate to leave you with any bad feelings. Just know I'm still upset, naturally. But I do appreciate all you've done for me, and being a part of my childhood."
He nodded and gave her a sad smile. "Don't you worry about it for a minute. Here, let me get your bags."
As he unloaded the luggage, they exchanged a brief hug.
"Now, when you become a famous singer one day, you write, okay? Don't you forget about it."
Francis nodded. "Don't worry, sir. I promise. I'll send you a signed vinyl, too!" she exclaimed, as she made her way to the station. She winked and waved one last time, and he returned the gesture.
Eventually, she found her way onto the train car. She sat next to the window, watching the fog crawl across the emerald landscape. She thought of Delaware, and how different her life was about to become. As the train shuttered forward, she watched the Cascade mountains begin to slip into the background.