AN: I just wanted to thank you for checking this story out :) So little is told on Pennsatucky's background other than why she is incarcerated; I figured it'd be interesting to tell her story, as my mind saw it. It does start of somewhat choppy, but I promise it will get better. I'm going to break these up into time periods/places, and make time move somewhat quickly until the "juicy" parts. If I get any details wrong, please notify me; I did my best to gather all details on Pennsatucky that I could before writing this! Thank you again for your time, you are wonderful! 3
-SULLIVAN COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA, CIRCA 1997
Tiffany Doggett bit at her fingernails, worry slithering about in her stomach. Her eyes scanned the empty parking lot for a sign of her aunt's tan car, supposedly coming to pick her up to take her home to an emergency. She paused with the fingernail biting, and began twirling her thick dark brown hair, adjusting her pink backpack on her shoulders. What in the world could be going on? Finally, she spotted her aunt pull into the parking lot. She stepped off of the curb, towards the car, as her aunt threw the car into park in the middle of the barren lot.
At thirteen years old, naïve and afraid, Tiffany quickly climbed into her aunt's beat up Plymouth. The car stank of cigarette smoke and the right rear-view mirror was half broken off, but the car was almost a sense of comfort.
With one glance at her aunt, however, the tiny sense of comfort she had was shaken. Her aunt, usually with her hair teased to its limits, her face caked in makeup and dressed to the nines, had her hair still in rollers, was in her pajama pants, and had a face untouched by makeup. Worry and age lines that Tiffany had never been exposed to her were in light; in any other circumstance, the bright young girl would've stopped to study them, but this was different.
"Aunt Tamara, what's going on?" she asked nervously, tugging on the worn seatbelt, trying to convince it to buckle properly. Finally, she heard a reassuring click, and returned her gaze to her aunt.
Tamara put the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot of Tiffany's middle school, taking a long drag of her cigarette before answering. "Your dad's in trouble, I guess. I don't know much. They sent me here to come get you."
This didn't help Tiffany's already nervous attitude after receiving an emergency call that dragged her out of her English class – they were reading Shakespeare, one of her favorites – and led her outside to be picked up, with no explanation from anyone other than it was urgent that she go home.
With no other word from her aunt and no sound other than the quiet Marcy Playground playing on the radio and her aunt's interval cigarette drags, Tiffany began to pick at her fingernails, pushing on the cuticles. It was a nervous habit of hers; she seemed to have a lot of habits. Her mind spun with possibilities. Was someone in the family hurt? Had someone died? She almost shivered at the thought; her family meant everything.
To many outsiders, Tiffany's cutesy little family would've made any underprivileged child writhe with jealousy. There was Monty, her father, the burly factory worker, with a thick moustache. Willa, her mother, the short, dark-haired woman with thick glasses, an office worker. Then, her siblings – Katie and Joseph, Katie at eight years old and Joseph at six. Katie loved to practice ballet, and Joseph was already a bright baseball fanatic. While the family wasn't exactly rich, they had the funds to get by, and enjoyed each other's company more so than money. To Tiffany, everything was perfect.
Her safe haven of thought was jolted as her aunt rammed the car almost angrily into her family's driveway. An ambulance also sat by the curb. Tiffany threw open the car door as quickly as possible, and fumbled to get the stubborn seatbelt unclicked. She sprinted towards the front door, her backpack shaking on her back. Her aunt followed suit, though at a much more acceptable brisk walk.
Eagerly, Tiffany threw open the door, throwing one last feverish hope that it was no big deal that she had been called home.
Instead, she was met by her father lying on the ground, eyes closed, appearing almost lifeless. A paramedic was nearby, though he was inactive. Tiffany's frantic mother was sobbing, clinging to her husband's shirt.
Suppressing a scream of horror, Tiffany raced forwards, throwing her backpack off of her back and almost hitting her aunt with it. "Dad!" she screamed, almost landing on him in her skid to a stop. She dropped to her knees, needing to be closer to him.
The paramedic leaned down, speaking softly. "He's suffered a heart attack, and it doesn't look good. If it was me, I'd be saying my goodbyes." Though his voice was soft, his words were harsh, cutting Tiffany like blades. Her mother let out a strangled choking noise; her aunt remained frozen at the doorway, her mouth in a perfect 'o'.
"Dad? Dad!" Tiffany yelled, and her father's eyes opened to slits.
"My baby," he murmured, weakly lifting an arm to put on Tiffany's shoulder. She leaned in closer.
"I love you," he choked out. "I always have, and I always will, my Tiff. Be strong for your momma, and your siblings." His words came out half-strangled.
"You can't go!" Tiffany yelled, tears openly streaming down her face. This wasn't real. This wasn't happening.
"I gotta, baby," he murmured, almost flinching from Tiffany's volume. "Just remember my advice to you, okay? Always."
"If anyone disrespects me, I take care of them." She murmured, reciting the words her father had told her since birth.
"That's right, baby girl. Do what you have to. If I can't protect you, you have to." His voice was fading out; his eyes were near closed.
"Daddy!" she screamed, frantically wrapping her arms around his waist; or at least, as best she could with the floor in the way. With that, the life ebbed out of Monty Doggett, and he closed his eyes for the last time. Tiffany clung to his shirt, tears leaving stains on the dark blue fabric.
It was 2AM when Tamara finally pulled a sleeping Tiffany off of the floor where her father had lain, and put her on the couch, wrapping her up in a blanket. Tiffany's mother was in a comatose state; Katie and Joseph were safely tucked into bed.
Leaning up against the window in the front room, Tamara took a long drag of her seemingly ever present cigarette. Being Willa's sister, she knew how her sister had been when they lost their father. It had taken Willa years to regain any sense of composure; Monty had always helped her with that, held her tight when she needed it. She was scared to see how Willa would react now without her saving grace. God, Monty. Not usually emotional, Tamara felt choked up; that man had loved his family more than anything on God's Green Earth. She remembered when Tiffany had been born; he had held her in his arms, gently cradling the crying mess of baby, and told her how beautiful she was, and he'd always love her more than any other stupid boy. Tamara had thought newborn babies always looked distinctly like disheveled old men, but Monty saw something. And, seeing what a beautiful young woman Tiffany was turning into, Tamara was beginning to understand.
God, how would Tiffany grow up without a father? A tear rolled down her cheek; within five minutes, she was sobbing hysterically on the floor.
Tamara's sobs woke the sleeping Tiffany; though she had never been particularly religious, in her half awake state, she murmured her first prayer.
"Dear God, I know we don't talk. I promise we can though, if you just bring my daddy back. I'll be a good girl forever and talk to you every day, God, he's all I want. Thank you. Amen."
With that, feeling a tiny bit reassured, Tiffany drifted off.