Hawkins, Indiana is just some small town that nobody knows where to pin on a map. It's a small, close-knit town where nothing ever happens, and when it does, it's the only event of the year. Rebecca Newby lives in that town, and luckily enough - or...
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The only black dress Rebecca owned was one she hadn't worn in two years. She was surprised when it still fit, but relieved - there was no time to go funeral dress shopping. Looking in the mirror's reflection, the expression on her face looked pitiful. Discomfort was clear in the teen's posture as she tugged down on the form fitting sleeves until they sat comfortably half-way down her palm. In turn, the dress now took an off-the-shoulder look. Beck adjusted her freshly washed hair to hide the straps that had been exposed. It fell down in front of her glasses, as well, hiding the right half of her face.
A sigh escaped the girl as she turned her body to the left, checking her side profile. It looked fine. What with the dark tights underneath the dress, and the black, lace-up boots waiting for her at the end of her bed, she looked about as ready as anyone to watch a little boy's casket get dumped into the earth. It's not really him, though.
There was a light knock on the door, and as Rebecca turned to look in it's direction, the door peeked open a few inches. Her father poked his head into the room, asking, "Almost ready?"
"Yeah." she replied. A forced grin appeared on Bob's face, and he took a few paces into the room to stand in front of his daughter. She let the corners of her mouth turn up a bit, also forced. One trait Beck had taken from her father was the need to diffuse tension, to mediate. She knew that's what he was trying to do now, standing with Rebecca in her room. It would be what he'd try to do at the event itself, when the girl could already envision her father giving his high school friend a hug, offering Mrs. Byers - Joyce - whatever she might need.
Bob lifted a hand and pushed the lock of hair that had fallen in Rebecca's face behind her ear. Letting out a small huff, he asked, "Wanna wear one of my watches? It's the one you wore to the court hearing." Beck could feel his hand falling onto her shoulder, resting there in a sense of comfort. Death in a small, close-knit town was painful - and the teen's best guess was that her father was trying to diffuse the tension within his child. Little did he know, she didn't even believe the funeral was real, and a small light of hope was shining in the back of her mind against all the recent darkness.
"Sure." she replied, and after a second, nodded her head. "Yeah." "
"Okie dokie, let me go find it." he replied, patting Beck's shoulders before turning around and leaving the room. The girl sighed once he was gone, turning to look at herself in the mirror again. Whether Will was dead or not... it was still painful. Not even a sliver of chance that he was alive masked the anxiety that something horrible was happening in Hawkins.
"'Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.' It's times like these that our faith is challenged. How, if He is truly benevolent... could God take from us someone who is so young, so innocent?" the local pastor read and spoke, holding a copy of the Bible. The crowd was quite heavy, surrounding the child-sized casket within the barren field. Most of the leaves from the autumn had blown away with the wind, and the grass was turning a wicked yellow.
