Against all better judgement, more accurately, with zero amount of good judgement I have decided to start this story.
I am actually almost done with it! Which means more regular updates yay! :)
IMPORTANT NOTE:
This is an AU story. If that's not your thing, move along. If you're looking for the traditional Nancy Drew/Hardy Boy story, this is not it. This is a story where I explore the crazy possibility of what Nancy's story could have been like if she had ended up in foster care. Because, if you haven't noticed, I like to twist and invent what is already there in crazy crazy ways. One of my reviewers very accurately told me: "... your stories refuse to fit in!" (which they thought was positive yay! :) but I understand that not everyone feels that way which is understandable) Nancy, as circumstances demand, is going to be somewhat out of character, meaning, her character will be adapted to her environment. And no I'm not perfect. So it won't be perfect. Sorry. I wish I could be perfect. But maybe that would be a little boring... Anyways.
Did you know foster care is a messed up system? I know there are good things happening, but this story attempts to show both sides. Perhaps with a little more emphasis on the bad part.
It actually isn't a place I've been in, so if you have, please let me know what you think, tell me your story, and hopefully nothing offends anyone.
Introducing Catlover1033's Newest Crazy Out Of The Box Story That Will Probably Cause A Lot of People To Be Mad At Her
Beneath The Surface
Somewhere deep in the forest, the cry of a baby wavered on the air.
A car door slammed and there was the slight crunch of heavy boots on twigs and undergrowth.
Two men examined the crumpled mess that was a car, bent around a tree.
"Think he's dead?" The taller asked the other.
"One way to find out." The shorter stockier man walked to the driver's side and peered in, careful not to touch anything. He examined the gruesome scene inside the car and then stepped back. "Pretty sure he's dead but if he isn't, he will be when we light the car up."
The baby's cry came weakly from the back seat again.
The stocky man began pouring gasoline all over the car.
Not able to help himself, the first man peeked into the backseat.
The car seat had done its job. Safely cradled in the straps and fabric lay a very young child, maybe ten months old, blinking and staring right back at the man. Her blue eyes seemed to pierce right through him as she stared, tears drying on chubby cheeks, wisps of red blonde hair sticking up all over the place.
The man stepped back.
"What about the baby?" he asked.
"What about her? We knew she would be in the car."
The first man paused. He knew he couldn't but he looked back in the car. The baby was staring straight at him again.
She reminded him of his own daughter, born a couple years ago. He remembered holding her for the first time, staring into those chocolate eyes, admiring her perfect hazelnut colored skin. So different from this baby, and yet so similar.
He hadn't seen his daughter for two years. He briefly wondered how she looked now, if the black fuzz on her head had grown into to lots and lots of tiny little ponytails, fastened by colorful hair bands. Or maybe little mini cornrows, like his baby sister had growing up.
Maybe he could drop by after this job. A part of him jumped with excitement at the idea, mind wandering, dreaming... But he knew he had to stay away. All he could do was send the cash in the mail and pray that someday his little girl would understand why daddy could never be home.
This baby no longer had a daddy, thanks to him.
He stepped closer.
The baby before him, in the smouldering car, began coughing. Smoke was swirling from the crumpled engine. The car would flame up soon. They just had to make sure the flames were hot enough to burn away any evidence of tampering.
Listening to the tiny little coughs, the man turned his back, trying to keep his resolve.
He lost it after a couple seconds, peering back into the car, not able to tear himself away for some reason. The baby was coughing still. She raised one hand up, like a silent plea for help, towards the window the man was spying on her from.
"Let's take the baby," the man said suddenly to the stocky one.
"What?!"
"We're taking her." The tall man pried open the bent back door and began fighting with straps and buckles, finally extracting the baby out of her carseat.
"What the hell are you doing Carlos?!" The stocky man ran up to him. "Have you lost your effing mind? She has to go up with the car! No survivors, no evidence..."
"I don't murder babies, Santi." Carlos held the baby tightly to his chest. She was silent except for occasionally coughing.
Santi was silent for a moment, staring at the baby then back at the smoldering car. They were running out of time, they had to get the fire really going and get out.
Two crystal blue eyes examined him innocently. Tiny little rose colored lips quivered slightly.
"Okay then what do we do with her?" Santi hissed. "If the Boss finds out..."
"We'll take her with us. Drop her off at a farmhouse in a different state. Two, three states out. On our way back. There's no way they could trace her back to the crash if we do that. We leave a note, it says "We can't take care of her anymore" or some crap like that. Cops think she died in the fire in the car, it'll be so burnt they won't be none the wiser. Neither will the Boss. No way anybody could find out."
They were silent for a moment, both assessing the proposition.
"Okay, put her in our car. There's a box and some blankets, it'll have to do. I'm lighting this thing up." Santi pulled out a match.
Around fifteen minutes, a car skidded to a stop in front of the burning inferno of what used to be a car. A call was made, firefighters came. There wasn't much left to save, crumbled blackened metal... A freak accident, they said. It was all over the news. Carson Drew was a beloved member of the River Heights community. It was a tragedy, that the young man and his little baby would follow the mother down to the grave so before their time. A tiny little family obliterated in the span of less than a year, by sickness and fire.
Two days later, the sun rose on a cornfield, shining down on a bundle in a cardboard box on the doorstep of the only building in sight, other than the large red barn behind it.
A dog barked somewhere in the tiny little white house and a elderly woman came yawning to the door. Her brow furrowed with confusion.
Hands trembling slightly, she pulled away the fabric covering the top of the box.
Two blue eyes blinked open to meet hers.
A note pinned to the blanket read "We can't take care of her no more. Please give her what we couldn't."
The woman took the baby inside, flustered, confused, calling for her husband. The dog barked. But the baby didn't cry. Her blue eyes were wide, taking in the world around her.
That night, taking off the grubby clothes that the child was in, exchanging them for what they had saved for a child of their own long long ago that never had the chance to grow up, they examined the tag of the baby's now filthy purple onesie.
In permanent marker, the tag had five little letters neatly written on it.
Nancy.
Four and a half years later, the elderly couple was dead. One heart attack and one broken heart.
A five year old girl was the one who made the call when the woman died a few weeks after the man. The small girl had no identification, no papers, nothing. She told the police she had been found on the doorstep of Joe and Christine Parker's door as a baby. They were old fashioned, raised on a farm themselves, and had never even taken the girl to the doctor or dentist. The neighbors, far and elderly themselves, didn't even know the girl existed.
A couple days later, Nancy Parker was placed in her first foster home.
Review, tell me what you think (as long as it's constructive!) and most importantly, go out and love cats and dogs. And sushi. And pumpkin pie.