The Masked Family

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  But she didn't find Cary's secret plan until she went to work outside.

  In the dim light of dawn, she walked the trailer's perimeter, examining the siding and the latticework skirting. She had gone almost the whole way around when she finally spotted the vertical cuts in the skirting...two of them, spaced four feet apart.

  Jamming her fingers into the holes in the latticework between the cuts, she tugged. A four-foot-wide section pulled free of the skirting.

  Celeste set the panel aside and leaned down, gazing into the space under the trailer. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something small and furry scurry away, but she forced herself not to look in that direction.

  Instead, she looked up at the underside of the trailer. It was a good thing she did, or she would have missed the plastic box.

  At first, in the dim light, she thought it was just part of the trailer. The box blended right in, attached to the trailer's underside and just as white as the surface it was stuck to.

  The box was rectangular, two feet long by one foot wide. It was shallow, less than six inches deep, and mounted at the trailer's midline.

  Celeste got down on her knees and crawled in after it. Reaching up, she took hold of the box with both hands and pulled. When it came free, she saw that it had been suspended from a lid that was screwed to the trailer's base.

  When she lowered the box, she saw that the only thing inside was a spiral-bound notebook with a green cover.

  She backed out through the hole in the skirting with her find. When she got out from under the trailer, she could read the title scrawled in Cary's longhand over the notebook's cover.

  Secret Plan.

  *****

  On the way to Akron, Ohio, Celeste called all three numbers programmed into her cell phone for her sister, Paisley. Paisley's home, cell, and work all came up the same: no answer.

  She left a message on Paisley's home answering machine and cell phone voice mail and resolved to try again later. She didn't mention the one question she wanted most to ask, though.

  Why are you the first stop in Cary's secret plan?

  It was hard to imagine Paisley and Cary having anything whatsoever to do with each other. The two of them hadn't been on speaking terms for decades.

  One thing was for sure: the plan was definitely secret, even to someone who'd managed to find its hiding place. Each step was based on a clue that wouldn't make sense to anyone outside the Nuclear Family...and the clues seemed to have been fine-tuned further, designed to be deciphered by specific members of the family. Even an insider like Celeste didn't understand many of the clues, though she recognized certain references throughout.

  Luckily, the first clue was one she could figure out on her own.

  Go to the one who worships Belgian waffles.

  Celeste had known the answer right away. One of the Nuclear Family kids had loved Belgian waffles more than the others, to the point of obsession.

  That was why Celeste was heading for Paisley in Akron, Ohio. She'd combed every inch of Cary's trailer, inside and outside, and the secret plan was the only clue she'd found. She just had to hope it was pointing her in the right direction.

  Not that she could convince herself that her doubts were unfounded. For one thing, given the rift between Paisley and Cary, how likely was it that the two weren't just talking, but cooperating? Not only were they not on speaking terms, but the plan was just the kind of thing that Paisley would have thought was ridiculous.

  For that matter, if Cary was following the secret plan, why had he left it under the trailer? How could Celeste know it wasn't a decoy, leading her off in the wrong direction while Cary ran headlong into disaster elsewhere?

  She couldn't. All she had to go on was a gut feeling that she was on the right track.

  That and a note scrawled in Cary's handwriting on page one of the secret plan. Gut feeling aside, every possible reason and rationale aside, that note itself was enough to make her follow the plan.

  And do it fast.

  My last chance.

  Trust no one and hide where I can never be found. Only the Nuclear Family can find me.

  Only they can save me.

  *****

  Chapter Eight

  Johnstown, Pennsylvania, 1977

  Two days before Grogan Salt framed Cary Beacon for a crime he didn't commit, Grogan made breakfast for the Nuclear Family.

  "Thisismy w-w-way ofsaying th-th-thanks." Grogan carried the skillet around the kitchen table, raking scrambled eggs onto everyone's plates. "F-f-f-for lettingmestayhere."

  Cary was the only one who had cereal. He was the only one who wasn't warming up to Grogan.

  Or "Blacksheep," as Cary called him behind his back. Blacksheep, the evil arch enemy working to destroy the Nuclear Family from within.

  "Sorryforwhippingthe f-f-finger atyou," Grogan had told the kids a week ago, the day after his arrival. "I-I-I've gotarudesenseof h-humor." And then he'd shaken the hand of each kid.

  Except Cary, who'd walked away.

  Can't fool me. The hand may be quicker than the eye, but not quicker than The Hurry.

  Unfortunately, Cary's parents weren't exactly keeping up with him.

  "This is wonderful, Grogan." Maxi-Mom Lydia beamed as she raised another forkful of scrambled eggs. "What a nice surprise."

  "I could get used to this," said Father Law, in his secret identity as E.Q. Beacon. "If each kid takes a different day, we could have a cooked breakfast just about every day of the week."

  All the Nuclear Family kids immediately looked in E.Q.'s direction. "Just kidding," he said, and they all laughed loudly.

  All except Cary.

  Father Law's a genius. Maxi-Mom has super woman's intuition. Why can't they see how bad Blacksheep really is?

  "I'm g-g-glad youlikeit," said Grogan. His fang-like incisors jutted out of his big, proud grin. "Icanmakehomemade B-B-Belgianwafflestoo."

  "Belgian waffles are my favorite!" Paisley tossed her head, which gave her black hair a shake. It was immaculate as always, glossy and bouncy and neatly brushed. "They're the best!

  "Belgian waffles?" E.Q.'s eyes widened. "Mmm!"

  "Now now, E.Q." Lydia patted E.Q.'s back. "Grogan's not here to be our personal cook."

  "E.Q.?" Grogan tipped his head to one side as he stared at E.Q. "What's that stand for?"

  "No one knows," said Baron.

  "He won't tell anyone," said Paisley.

  "But maybe I'll tell you, Grogan," said E.Q. "If you keep making me breakfast."

  Cary looked around the table from one kid to the next, and all of them were laughing. He couldn't believe it.

  He couldn't believe Father Law had just said he might tell Grogan what "E.Q." stood for, though he'd always refused to tell anyone else under any circumstances. Cary didn't even think E.Q. had told Lydia.

  And now he might tell Grogan?

  Cary had been carrying around a brick of pure anger in his stomach for the past week. Suddenly, the heavy brick became an even heavier cement block.

  Just then, Celeste looked at him with a worried frown. It made him feel just a little better knowing that she, at least, wasn't so Grogan-blind she didn't notice something was bothering Cary.

  Still, Cary would've felt even better if she were glaring at Grogan like he was, carrying a block of cement in her stomach right along with him.

  Then, he wouldn't have to worry so much that she'd get hurt when Grogan carried out his evil plans.

  Cary knew those plans were coming. He had found out in a way that left absolutely no room for doubt.

  Grogan had told him.

  *****

  Yesterday afternoon, Grogan had cornered Cary in the basement. Cary had gone down there to look for a Nerf football, and no one else had been around.

  "H-hey, asshole," Grogan had said. "No one'll b-believe you, asshole."

  Cary had been scared, being cornered by someone almost twice his age, but he'd tried to act brave. "Believe me how?"


  "That I t-toldyou I'll k-killyou, asshole." Grogan had sneered as he shoved Cary back against the basement wall. "I'll k-kill youunlessyou j-j-join me, asshole."

  "Join you?" Cary had thought about making a run for it, but Grogan had grabbed his arm.

  "You're m-my n-newslave, asshole." Grogan had shaken him hard by the arm. "Y-You're gonnahelpme m-make these idiots m-m-miserable, asshole."

  "Never." With that, Cary had lashed out a foot, cracking Grogan in the shin. The second Grogan had let go of his arm, Cary had sprinted around him and raced upstairs out of reach. He had hollered down behind him: "The Nuclear Family takes care of its own!"

  Grogan had hissed out his words between clenched teeth. "They'll allknowabout y-y-you w-when it's over, asshole. They'll knowitwas all y-your f-f-fault, asshole!"

  Even as Cary had run away, he'd known his escape was only temporary. He'd known he wouldn't be able to outrun Grogan forever.

  And he'd known that the danger ahead wouldn't be anything like playtime make-believe.

  *****

  So now Cary was in a bad situation. He knew Grogan had evil plans in mind, but he didn't know exactly what they were or when they'd happen. Not only did no one else suspect a thing, but they all seemed to have been taken in by Grogan's Mr. Nice Guy act.

  Cary knew he had to tell the rest of the Nuclear Family as soon as possible. Ever since his encounter with Grogan in the basement, Cary had tried to get the word out...but every time he'd gotten close to talking to someone, Grogan had popped up nearby.

  Today, though, Cary had to find a way to warn the others. The longer they stayed in the dark, the more chance Grogan would carry out his plan.

  The more chance Cary would be blamed for it.

  But he was already too late.

  Not long after breakfast, Cary got Celeste to meet him in The Cage...the space under the back porch that the Nuclear Family kids used as headquarters during their adventures.

  The Cage had an orange dirt floor and low-hanging beams that even Cary, the shortest kid, had to duck. One of the two latticework walls was a door, complete with hinges and a sliding latch on the outside.

  "What is it?" Celeste said loudly as soon as she swung open the door to The Cage.

  Cary held a finger to his lips. "Shhh."

  Celeste dropped her voice to a loud whisper. "Okay, okay. What do you want to talk to me about?"

  "It's Grogan," said Cary, looking around nervously. Through the holes in the latticework wall, he saw that no one was nearby out in the yard. "He said he'll kill me if I don't join him."

  Celeste frowned. "Join him?"

  "Help him make the family miserable." Cary didn't hear anyone coming, but he still kept looking outside. "He said he'll make everyone think it's my fault."

  Celeste narrowed her eyes. "This isn't part of an adventure, is it? The Hurry versus Blacksheep?"

  "No!" Cary caught himself raising his voice and dropped it back to a near-whisper. "I swear this isn't make-believe, Celeste! I'm scared."

  "Okay then." Celeste twirled her blonde hair around one finger. "Did he say anything else about what he's going to do?"

  Cary shook his head. "He just said no one'll believe me when I tell them he said he'll kill me."

  "He really is a liar then." Celeste smiled as she reached out to touch his cheek. "Because I believe you."

  "But what if nobody else does?" said Cary.

  "You know they will," said Celeste. "Grogan just got here, right? You've been here all your life."

  "I don't know." Cary stared out through the holes in the latticework. "What if I lose my powers and Grogan gets me?"

  "He won't get you." Celeste leaned close and kissed his forehead. "I'll save you."

  "But how can we stop him?" said Cary.

  "Let's go talk to Mom." Celeste tousled his racing-striped red hair, then turned and pushed open the door of The Cage. "She'll know what to do."

  *****

  Unfortunately, when Cary and Celeste found Lydia, Lydia was looking for them. She was looking for Cary, to be exact.

  "You've really let me down, young man," said Lydia, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

  Cary and Celeste shared a glance. Instantly, they both understood what had happened.

  Blacksheep had beaten them to the punch.

  Cary was almost too scared to speak, but he managed to squeak out one word. "Why?"

  Lydia glared down at him with cold, implacable fury. "Did your father and I teach you it's okay to steal?"

  Cary shook his head.

  "Then what do you call this?" Lydia opened her fist, revealing a handful of crumpled cash. Cary identified some of the bills by the green numbers printed on their corners.

  Hundred dollar bills.

  "M-money?" said Cary.

  Lydia pushed the cash toward him. Her voice grew harsher. "I found it in one of your hiding places. It was in the shoebox under your bed."

  Cary shivered. Celeste stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, which helped, but he still felt like he'd turned to ice inside.

  "Five hundred dollars," said Lydia. "Your father had it in an envelope in his dresser drawer."

  "Mom," said Celeste. "Listen..."

  But Lydia wasn't interested in listening. "It makes me sick to think we can't trust our own kids."

  "Mom." Celeste said it a little louder. "We have to tell you something."

  Lydia stepped back and pointed at the stairway. "Get up to your room, young man. Your father and I still have to decide what to do with you."

  Cary had tears in his eyes. "I didn't take that money," he said.

  And it was then that he saw Grogan had been right.

  Lydia didn't flinch. "Upstairs," she said. "Now."

  She doesn't believe me.

  She doesn't believe me.

  Just then, as Cary slogged through the living room and headed for the stairs, Grogan walked in the front door.

  He didn't say a word. He frowned at Cary with intense puzzlement and concern on his snaggle-toothed racehorse face.

  But Cary heard everything he really said and saw right through his mask to what he really thought as if liar vision were one of his super-powers.

  *****

  Chapter Nine

  Lilly, Pennsylvania

  Saturday, April 5, 1924, 9:00 PM

  "You've got the wrong man here," said Father Stanislavski, standing between the crowd and the man at the ticket counter. "Leave him alone."

  Though Olenka had stayed back until now, she moved up to stand beside Father. Her heart pounded as she looked at the angry faces glaring toward her.

  Dominick Campitelli and Nicolo Genovese had the angriest faces of all and stood right in front. They were two people who usually made Olenka feel at ease, but now they just made her nervous.

  "Out of the way, Father." Dominick stepped up to stand toe-to-toe with Father Stanislavski. "We have business with that guy."

  The whole crowd pressed forward...as much of it, at least, as could fit in the train station ticket office. Olenka guessed that forty or fifty people had squeezed into the room, with another fifty or so just outside the door.

  They had all followed the same guy who had gotten off the train, the guy whom Father Stanislavski and Olenka now shielded. The guy was short and stout, maybe in his thirties, with thin brown hair and a bushy mustache. He wore a dark blue jacket and trousers, black necktie, and a blue and black cap...what looked like a train conductor's uniform.

  That was the problem.

  "Now hold on a minute." Father Stanislavski was usually a soft-spoken man, but now he raised his voice in a commanding way. "What will it hurt to make sure this is the man you want?"

  "We want those trains out of here now." Dominick looked at the man at the counter as he said it. "We want those Klan boys trapped here without a way home."

  "Then we'll show them some local hospitality," said Nicolo.

  Some of the men in the crowd cheered. One of them waved a rifl
e overhead.

  Olenka's eyes widened. It was the first gun she'd seen that day, and it made her wonder how many more were in the room.

  It also made her wonder how smart it was to be one of the two people getting in the crowd's way right now.

  Father Stanislavski raised his arms. "Hold it!" The crowd quieted as he turned to the man at the counter. "Excuse me, sir. What's your name?"

  The man took off his cap. "W-Wilbur," he said, nodding six times fast.

  "And are you a conductor, Wilbur?" said Father Stanislavski.

  "No, F-Father," said Wilbur. "I'm a brakeman, and I'm n-not even on the j-job today. Just on my w-way to Altoona."

  "Thank you, Wilbur." Father Stanislavski turned back to the crowd. "You see? You have the wrong man here."

  "He's lying." Dominick snorted and shook his head. "I would, if I were him."

  "No," said Wilbur. "I'm t-telling the truth. Louise knows m-me." Wilbur turned and peered into the ticket window. "Louise? Louise?"

  No one answered. Wilbur leaned closer to the window and called out again, but still there was no sign of Louise.

  Dominick laughed. "That's proof enough for me. I guess you are telling the truth."

  The crowd laughed, too.

  "C'mon now." Dominick pushed past Father Stanislavski. "We're not gonna hurt you. We just want you to take the train outta here."

  "But I'm n-not the conductor." Wilbur shrank away from Dominick's outstretched hand.

  Father Stanislavski grabbed Dominick's shoulder. "Careful," said Father. "Remember how it feels."