Welcome! It's been about ten years since I posted my last fanfiction, but the course the PLL storyline took inspired me to attempt to re-work the execution while keeping the same major plot points. This work is a prequel of sorts, establishing the relationship between Jessica and Mary and exploring how they came to be the dark women we know them as. It will be near cannon.
In keeping with what I think are the best (lost) parts of PLL, the path the Drake twins take in this story is heavily influenced by the cruel decisions of the men in their life. Specifically, TRIGGER WARNINGS for childhood molestation and abuse.
Chapter 1
Dorothy Drake knew that her husband was no good. She supposed she loved him, if one defined love broadly enough to include a fondness born from the mutual benefits they derived from one of another, which she did. Of her various suitors, he benefited her the most, and she benefited him the most from his various courtships, and their families were satisfied, and that was that. That was love.
But she knew he was no good. He didn't hit her or say he was working late while he was really shacking up with floozies in town. He was a sharp business man who didn't gamble their money. He provided her with a substantial living in a genuine Victorian renovation in upper Pennsylvania. He was always proud to have her on his arm at Church on Sundays, and neighbors spoke of them with respect.
But Robert Drake also had a envelope full of nude photographs of children locked in his desk drawer, which he and Dorothy have spoken about exactly once, and never again.
"This is precisely why I keep them there!" He had said. "You women are so hysterical. They're artistic. They're French!" As though that resolved it.
"It's unsettling, Robert," she had told him, placing her hands on her swollen belly, feeling the paired kicks and stretches.
"For god's sake, woman, you're acting like I'm looking at pornography. They're children."
Dorothy supposed it could definitely be worse, and she imagined her mother would tell her the same. It wasn't as though she could go crawling home again. She was twenty five and married and pregnant with two babies. She had considerable social influence. And it was true that the pictures weren't sexually posed. But her deepest intuition told her that there was a reason they were locked in a drawer, a reason that was perhaps shrouded even from Robert himself. She felt faintly lucky that the children wouldn't be around him much. It was a blessing that his job kept him busy and out of her sphere. Any woman would agree.
He wasn't there when they were born. He was at home, drinking a beer, celebrating their impending arrival.
Dorothy doesn't remember much. The medicine they gave her made her woozy and forgetful, but when they wheeled her down to the nursery and let her peer through the window, she realized she had never truly loved until that moment. Her two little girls, lying side by side, awoke a feeling in her that was physical, a weight that spread from her chest to her extremities, a heat that flashed through her like the shiver that ran through her when she sipped wine. She began to bawl, hands pressed against the glass, quite unladylike. And when her gown became soaked at the chest quite suddenly, dark sticky patches of early milk spreading from her nipples, she was too stunned by emotion to even care.
"What are you calling them?" the nurse asked kindly, offering her a rough hospital blanket to press against her breasts.
"Which came first?" Dorothy asked, and she decisively designated the earlier, smaller baby Mary, and the second, stronger baby Jessica.
"Mary made herself meek in the service of the lord," she told the nurse piously. "Look at her. That one will certainly make me proud."
"And Jessica?"
"It's a crisp name. Jess-i-ca," she said, emphasizing the hard consonants. "She looks strong."
Mary and Jessica were almost exactly identical. They had thick honey blond hair that lay smoothly on their heads, blue eyes that were wide and sometimes vacant in that sleepy, overwhelmed way of infants, and the clearest, prettiest skin Dorothy had ever seen. Jessica had a light blue vein running across the bridge of her nose, but it could only be seen in certain lights. The easiest way to tell them apart was to look for the two brown beauty marks on the left side of Mary's face, one tucked into the crease of her nose, the other on her cheek.
They slept like kittens, in strange, floppy positions, curled across one another. When Dorothy found them like that it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended until she would spot those two brown dots.
At Mary and Jessica's six month doctor's appointment, Dorothy was proud to report that they were sleep trained, eating cereal, and weaning from breastmilk. The pediatrician, in her opinion, was not suitably impressed.
"And how often are they apart?" He asked her.
"Apart?" Dorothy asked. "They're twins!"
"You don't want them to get too attached," the doctor said. "New mothers often make the mistake of spoiling their babies. You have to deal with them spoiling each other, too. You stay at home, of course?"
"Yes, of course," Dorothy answered.
"Try to stagger their feeding and sleeping schedule. Spend some time one-on-one with them. If you can't handle it, get your mother or a nanny to come by. Even a girl in the neighborhood who needs some practice."
Dorothy stared at her daughters as she placed them in their car cot, carefully balanced on the floorboard. They were curled into one another, Mary's head against Jessica chest, Jessica's knees against Mary's stomach, a yin yang in yellow and pink. The doctor's last warning echoed in her ear.
"You have two children, not one."
Dorothy wasn't sure the babies knew that.
Jessica had three favorite stuffed animals. Two of them had been Mary's before Jessica grew attached to them, and Mary, either uncharacteristically kind for an 18 month old or typically forgetful, had shrugged after a brief struggle and attached herself to something else. Jessica's tastes were varied and comfortable. Tucked into bed with her each night were a round bellied teddy bear, a floppy baby doll with a heavy, dropping head, and a bean-filled cat which rustled when it was held. She carried one or two of them with her most of the time, keeping the others safely in her blankets.
Mary, on the other hand, was a formal thing even then. She had taken a liking to a stiff, starched doll, about eight inches high with a navy dress in velvet, its face, hands, and legs a crisp porcelain. This she protected fiercely. Jessica had been quickly dissuaded from stealing this lovey for her own when Mary had slapped her outreached hand, hard, once.
It was the first time one of the twins had hurt the other. Dorothy couldn't help but feel a little proud. From then on, Mary kept the doll sitting neatly in a small wooden chair at the end of her bed. Dorothy would watch Mary stroke its soft hair and give it a gentle kiss each night before bed.
"And how are Mary and Jessica doing these days?" The pediatrician asked as he washed his hands at the sink. Dorothy smiled and ran through the list - they were working on potty training, they were using utensils, they were sleeping well. There were the occasional tantrums, as two year olds were wont to have, and bumps and bruises as they mastered running and hopping. The doctor nodded and examined the girls.
Jessica and Mary sat through it all happily. Jessica kicked her feet wildly while she sat atop the examining table and Mary giggled, swinging hers back and forth with somewhat less intensity. They held hands as the doctor stretched their legs and listened to their chests. Mary lay her head against Jessica's shoulder; Jessica ran her hand softly through Mary's hair. They were innocent angels, blond hair lit up by the bright examining lights. It was hard to imagine they ever fought.
"I do have one concern…" Dorothy said hesitantly.
"What's that?"
"Well, Jessica has been hurting Mary...a lot. In my opinion."
Mary had head her name. "M'ree, M'ree!" she said. "Je-ca, M'ree."
Jessica intervened. "Mommy, mommy. No! No M'ree. Je-ca!"
"Tantrums and physical aggression are very usual at this age," the doctor said, distracted as he smiled at the girls. "It's normal for kids to fight when they're angry or frustrated."
Dorothy sighed. "No, I've been preparing for that, and they both occasionally hit each other when they're fighting over a toy or something. But this seems...different. Mary will be playing quietly on her own and Jessica will come in from another room and pull her hair. Or pinch her. It's not quick, it's deliberate."
The two adults stared at the children, who stared back, hands clasped. Dorothy could sense the doctor was restraining a laugh.
"Dorothy," the doctor said kindly. "I think Jessica's discovering that Mary and herself are different people. She's experimenting. 'When I do this to her, can I feel it?'"
Dorothy breathed out. She hadn't even realized she was holding her breath.
"I did warn you," the doctor said. "Try to give them more time apart."
When the twins turned three, Dorothy enrolled them in pre-school.
"Why?" Robert had asked her with a sneer. "Aren't you their teacher? What are you going to do all day?"
Dorothy had promptly reminded him that it was long past time that she get re-involved with her community.
"Before the twins, I counted money at church, I hosted bridge, I played piano for community events!" Dorothy defended herself. "The girls will be fine at school, it's three hours Robert!"
Hmph, he had said, and left the room, continuing to mumble under his breath.
"Just doesn't seem right, Dorothy, it just doesn't seem right."
Later, Dorothy tried to get him excited about what the girls were doing at school.
"Tell Daddy what you did today, Jessica!" she would say, and Jessica, the little chatter box, was off, talking about painting and water play and counting. She sang her alphabet, loud, primly, making them each sit down and watch her as though she were performing on stage. She knew the words to every nursery rhyme and accompanied them with hand motions. While she reenacted their day, Mary sang quietly along under her breath.
Robert loved to watch Jessica to perform and Dorothy was relieved to see him take an interest in the girls. After Jessica had worn herself out, Robert turned to Mary with narrowed eyes.
"What about you? Don't you want to get up there with Sissy? Look how nice she looks, look how poised she is! Didn't you do anything?"
"Daddy, I sang too," Mary said. "And did my wetters and stuff. I don't know…" She quelled under his expectant gaze.
"Mary's teachers say she's the best in the class with counting," Dorothy would remind Robert.
"Ah, numbers. What good is that on a girl? Ha! Take care of me in my old age though, won't you girly?" And he messed her hair and turn back to Jessica.
Mary hopped up, pushing Jessica from her spot centered in front of their parent.
"Watch! I can go to fifty!" Mary fidgeted with her clothes, smoothing her skirt and hair before hesitantly launching into her numbers.
"One, two, free…" she said and haltingly make it to twenty Robert got annoyed at her slow pace and got up.
Dorothy wasted no time launching into her concerns at the twins four year doctor's appointment.
"Mary doesn't speak correctly. She says ff for th and t for ck and and wuh for llll. Jessica talks for her, I know that's the problem, I've tried to keep them separated but then Mary just doesn't talk!"
"She says what?" Jessica asked. "Mommy, Mary says what? Wuh for what, mommy? Mama!"
"Jessica, hang on!" Dorothy snapped. "You see? Mary hasn't said a thing."
"Mary, she says you don't speak no good," Jessica told Mary solemnly, the effect somewhat lessened by the fact that she was holding both of Mary's hands in her own and Mary was leaning back and swinging side to side. "Tell her you can talk."
"I tan talk, mama," Mary said. "Wook what I can do! Sissy, hold me!"
The doctor sent her on her way with a specialist recommendation and a set of flashcards with mouth exercises and letter sounds. After a while Mary grew out of it and the story become a cute funny that they would trot out at Christmas time and for new teachers.
"Jessica and Mary are so close, Jessica used to say everything for Mary. Mary couldn't do half her letters because Jessica just did it for her!"
At six, Jessica picked a fight with Robert.
Robert yelled himself hoarse, while Dorothy hovered at the edge of the room, hands on her hips. Mary, she noticed, was sitting just inside the bathroom, the door cracked, watching from safety.
Jessica muttered something under her breath, something, Dorothy was sure, that was impossibly snooty and sassy. But they were all surprised when Robert scooped Jessica up by her waist and yanked her skirt up, spanking her, hard, three times across her bottom. Even Robert looked a little shocked as he dropped her to the ground, his finger shaking as he pointed her out of the room.
Dorothy heard the bathroom door swing open fully, as Mary chased after Jessica down the hall to their room. There was a woosh and then a dull thud, as though Mary had slid between the door and its frame before Jessica could slam it. Jessica's howl could be heard through the house for half an hour.
Dorothy woke up that night at 1 a.m. and Robert was gone. She stumbled to their bedroom door, opened it, and saw him leaving Jessica and Mary's room.
"Just wanted to check on Jessica," he said. "She fell asleep without saying goodnight. I was a little hard on her, wasn't I?"
They didn't look at each other as they climbed into bed.
Shortly after the girls turned seven, Dorothy shuffled them to the car and drove to the doctor's office, snapping at them to keep their giggles lowered if they wanted to keep their voice boxes. She couldn't help glancing in the rearview mirror, checking that their curls were in order, their dresses starched and neat.
"You girls better have put on clean underwear," she warned them.
"We did!" They chorused. Dorothy watched as Jessica reached over to Mary and slide her hand up her skirt, as though to check. Mary gave a squeal and scooted toward the window.
"Ow! Don't pinch me!"
"Jessica!" Dorothy snapped, and her daughter's head drooped to examine her hands as though chastised, though Dorothy didn't miss the sly smile on the younger twin's face as she glanced at her sister.
"They need the puberty talk, doctor," she said promptly when they arrived.
"Oh?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"And I want you to examine them. Make sure they aren't doing anything filthy to themselves...or each other"
"Oh, Mrs. Drake, that's really not necessary at this age," the doctor assured her. "Exploring is perfectly normal and not sexual. They may realize it feels good, but they're not associating that pleasure with intimacy."
"I'm concerned that their relationship is...unconventional," Dorothy said, stiffly. She didn't glance at her girls but saw from her peripheral vision that they had stilled and turned in interest.
"Hmm... a conversation with a religious figure may help them understand why those acts aren't appropriate. It's really not my domain," the doctor said firmly.
As they drove home, Dorothy thought hard, whispering under her breath as she formed the words. When they pulled into the drive she turned in her seat to examine Mary and Jessica. Both were sitting neatly with their hands sandwiched between their knees and the seat, tucked far apart on either side of the car.
Dorothy sighed. If only the doctor had examined them. Their relationship with each other was strange, to be sure, but her concerns were bigger.
"Girls," she began firmly. "You don't touch the private parts under your underwear. You shouldn't touch each other's private parts, either. And no one should touch yours."
Jessica and Mary glanced at one another in confusion. Dorothy hoped it was because it had never occurred to them to touch or be touched.
Dorothy paused. What if I'm wrong? What if I make them scared of their dad? What if I scare them away from each other?
"It might feel good and it might be hard not to. It doesn't make someone bad, to want to touch...it just means they need help remembering not to. It just means they have to work on it more."
Years later, as she lay in a ditch, a chill wind skating over her body, Dorothy was haunted by those words. She had given her daughters the language to excuse their father's deeds, and that's certainly what they had done - until that night.
Dorothy Drake knew her husband was no good.