The Masked Family

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Paisley snorted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Beats me," said Celeste. "The plan's in the form of a series of clues."

  "Typical Cary," said Paisley.

  "The first clue led me to you, but I can't figure out the second clue. I'm hoping you can solve it."

  "Well let's get right on that." Paisley fluttered her eyelashes and bobbed her head from side to side. "I've got nothing else going on right now."

  "I need to find him, Paisley. I have a feeling he's in trouble."

  "Can't argue with that," said Paisley. "Your sixth sense did such a great job figuring out I was held prisoner by my own husband for the last eight and a half months."

  "Look," said Celeste. "Can I at least get your take on the clue he left? It doesn't make sense to me."

  Paisley wiped her mouth with a napkin, then balled it up and dropped it on the table. "I'd like to, but I have to get going. Once the big psycho gets home and realizes I'm gone, which'll happen in about an hour, he'll be tracking me down like you wouldn't believe."

  "Then why don't you come with me?" Celeste wrapped a hand over Paisley's fist on the table and squeezed. "We can look for Cary together."

  Paisley thought for a moment, then nodded. "I've gotta warn you about something first, though."

  "What is it?" said Celeste.

  "I'm losing my freakin' mind." Paisley's smile was sweet to the point of hysteria, as if she were barely keeping herself from breaking down in tears or screams. "Actually, it might be more accurate to say I've already lost it."

  Celeste shrugged and let go of Paisley's fist. "Whatever you say." Her casual attitude was contrasted with her true level of concern for her sister.

  The part about losing her mind didn't seem all that hard to believe.

  "So what's the clue?" said Paisley.

  Celeste opened Cary's secret plan notebook and flipped to page two. "'Go to the one who baa baa baa'd after Blacksheep's sixteen stitches,'" she read.

  "That's easy," said Paisley...but then she looked lost in thought for a long moment. When she spoke again, she sounded more subdued than before. "Where's our asshole older brother live these days?"

  "Erie," said Celeste. "Baron lives in Erie, Pennsylvania."

  "Then that's where we've gotta go." Paisley sighed. "Unfortunately."

  *****

  Chapter Twelve

  Johnstown, Pennsylvania, 1977

  Cary spent the night on a wet cot that he hadn't made wet. It was the worst night's sleep he could remember having had in his whole life.

  The sheets and mattress were soaked. They smelled like pee, and he knew whose pee it had to be.

  That made it all the worse.

  And yet, Cary lay there and said nothing. He was afraid that if he tried to explain to Lydia or E.Q., they wouldn't believe him.

  After all, they hadn't believed him when he'd said he hadn't stolen the five hundred dollars. Why should they believe that he wasn't the one who'd wet his own cot?

  Apparently, the fact that they'd known him for many years and had just met Grogan didn't count for anything. Cary's long record of good behavior was meaningless now.

  It was no wonder he didn't get more than a few minutes' sleep at a time.

  While Cary lay there in Grogan's pee, he thought often about waking up Celeste and Paisley and telling them what had happened. They, at least, would believe him and try to help him.

  The problem was, their idea of helping might be to bring Lydia and E.Q. into the picture. That would just lead to Cary being blamed for wetting the bed and would leave him in the middle of a big mess all over again.

  Which was exactly what Blacksheep Grogan wanted, of course.

  Cary had to be smarter than that. He had to remember the lessons he'd learned from his comic books on how to match wits with an arch-nemesis.

  Sometimes it's smarter to let the bad guy think he's winning. It gets him to let his guard down.

  Plus which, as awful as it was to spend the night in the wet bed, Cary got something valuable out of the whole experience.

  He got a ton of motivation. He already had a lot after being framed for stealing E.Q.'s money, but now he had a million times more. A billion.

  Blacksheep had singled out Cary, who was five years younger than he was. Maybe he thought he'd have an easier time picking on a little kid, taking out the weakest one first.

  Guess again, Blacksheep. You made a huge mistake the day you crossed The Hurry.

  While Cary lay there that night, suffering in silence, he spent hours dreaming up ways he could prove it. Over and over again, he made the same promise to himself.

  I'll beat Blacksheep if it's the last thing I do.

  *****

  The next morning, of course, Grogan acted like nothing had happened and he was totally innocent. He even made a special breakfast of Belgian waffles for the whole family.

  Cary got the biggest helping but didn't eat a bite. As always, he stuck with his cereal while everyone else gorged on Grogan's cooking.

  After breakfast, while Grogan was out of the house with Lydia, Cary told Celeste what had happened. To say the least, she was horrified; Cary had to talk her out of doing something rash to retaliate.

  Then, she and Paisley helped him clean up the cot as best they could. They stripped off the sheets, put them in the washing machine, and scrubbed down the cot mattress with soapy water. They sprayed it with Lysol, dried it some with hair dryers, and flipped it over. It was still full of pee, but at least it might be bearable...and it might be enough to fool Lydia for a while.

  When that was all finished, they called an emergency meeting of the Nuclear Family kids.

  *****

  "We need to get him," said Cary, "before he gets us worse."

  Celeste nodded emphatically, but Baron and Paisley just frowned. They all sat in a circle on the ground in The Cage, their headquarters under the back porch.

  "Maybe he'll just stop," said Paisley, stroking her perfect black hair. "Maybe we should wait and see."

  Cary shook his head. "Blacksheep won't stop. He's just getting started."

  "Maybe if we talk to him about it," said Paisley. "Tell him we don't want him to do any more bad things."

  "Hey, Paise," said Celeste. "What kind of person pees in another person's bed? What kind of person gets someone else blamed for stealing five hundred bucks?"

  "And threatens to kill me," said Cary.

  "That, too," said Celeste. "That kind of person's an evil liar. He'll say anything to get out of trouble, and then later he'll get us."

  "He's good," said Cary. "Good at being bad."

  "We can't keep letting him get away with stuff," said Celeste. "If Mom and Dad won't stop him, we'll have to do it ourselves."

  "He's bigger and older than any of us," said Paisley. "How're we going to stop him?" She directed the question at Baron, who'd been quiet so far.

  Baron was drawing concentric circles in the dirt with the tip of a stick. When he looked up, his sisters and brother were all staring at him.

  Among the four of them, he was the oldest. He was the leader of the Nuclear Family kids.

  They expected him to make the call.

  "We have a team-up," said Baron. "Four against one."

  "I'll bet he can't beat the whole Nuclear Family," said Cary.

  "We'll still have to be careful," said Baron. "We'll need a plan."

  Paisley looked miffed. "I still say we should try talking to him first."

  "When somebody comes after one of us, there's no more talking," said Baron. "The Nuclear Family takes care of its own."

  *****

  Hours after the secret meeting, when Blacksheep got back from the hospital, Cary realized that he and his brother and sisters were too late.

  Blacksheep had made his next move.

  "All four of you," said E.Q. as he led Grogan up the sidewalk to the front door. "Go to the living room and sit down. Now."

  The kids were standing on the front porch, wa
tching Grogan's return. They'd seen E.Q. and Lydia whisk him away earlier without explanation, and they'd wondered ever since what had happened.

  Especially because of the trail of blood Grogan had left behind on the carpet, sidewalk, and driveway.

  "I said move it!" E.Q. rarely raised his voice, so when he did, it had extra impact. "Get in there!"

  Baron went in first, followed by the girls. Cary went last, taking a hard look at Grogan on the way.

  Slouched under E.Q.'s arm, Grogan shuffled toward the front steps. His left forearm was wrapped in white bandages. His orange T-shirt was spotted with blood.

  When he looked up, Cary saw that his left eye was black and blue.

  Grogan looked like he'd been in a fight, but Cary couldn't figure out when it had happened. For most of the morning, Grogan had been shopping with Lydia. After that, he couldn't have been home more than an hour before E.Q. had taken him to the hospital.

  It doesn't make sense.

  The only thing Cary knew for sure was that he and the others were in big trouble. Right after they'd agreed on a plan but before they could put it in motion, Grogan had headed them off.

  It was as if he had the power to read minds or see the future. Cary wondered if the Nuclear Family could ever defeat him.

  "You four stay right here till I get back." E.Q. glared at the kids through his black-framed glasses as he guided Grogan through the living room. "And not a word out of anybody." With that, he and Grogan went upstairs, followed by Lydia.

  Staring at each other, the brothers and sisters communicated silently. Baron shook his head slowly in disgust. Beside him on the sofa, Paisley looked terrified and seemed to shrink and curl up into herself.

  On the loveseat, Celeste took hold of Cary's hand and squeezed hard. She gave him an encouraging smile: Don't worry. It'll be all right.

  Cary couldn't quite manage to smile back at her. His stomach was twisting and wrenching. He felt freezing cold.

  It was the way he always felt when he knew something bad was about to happen, something painful and inevitable. He just wanted to run away, but he couldn't without making things worse.

  The feeling intensified when E.Q. stomped down the stairs and into the living room.

  He took up position in the middle of the room with Lydia at his side. He stood with arms folded over his chest and glowered at the kids seated before him.

  "Grogan wants to leave," said Lydia. "He doesn't want to stay here anymore."

  A surge of joy and relief rushed through Cary...until he realized his brother and sisters weren't having the same reaction. Ipso facto, Grogan wasn't actually going to leave.

  "I don't blame him." E.Q. was still using his mad Dad voice. It sounded like he was barely holding himself back from exploding. "Not the way you four have been treating him."

  "Don't you think it's hard enough being a stranger, without being ganged up on?" Lydia shook her head and cast a look of pure disgust and sadness at each of the kids in turn.

  It was enough to break Cary's heart. "But we didn't do anything," he said, his voice pitched high with desperation.

  "Honest to God." E.Q. angrily scrubbed his fingers through his curly brown hair. "I didn't think you kids had it in you to be so mean."

  "We don't!" said Cary.

  "How can you even say that?" Lydia pointed upstairs. "Did you see him? He had to have stitches in his arm."

  "What did he say happened?" said Celeste.

  "He wanted to play super-heroes with you," said Lydia. "You let him be the bad guy, and then...the four of you beat him up."

  "You gave him a black eye," E.Q. said to Baron. "You kept hitting him when he told you to stop."

  "That didn't happen," said Celeste.

  "You pushed him right into broken glass," said E.Q. "He needed sixteen stitches!"

  "What were you kids thinking?" said Lydia.

  Cary felt like he was falling fast, with nothing to grab onto. "We didn't do it!" he said. "Grogan's lying!"

  "Oh, Cary." Lydia shook her head. "What are we going to do with you?"

  E.Q.'s voice finally broke into a full-fledged shout. "How could he possibly hurt himself like that?"

  "I don't know." Cary clenched his teeth, fighting to keep from crying.

  "You're all grounded for a month," said Lydia. "Now get up to your rooms and stay there."

  "Correction," said E.Q. "Get up to your room. You're all sharing the same bedroom from now on."

  "What?" Baron looked like he was ready to leap off the sofa and have a fit.

  "Since you can't be trusted around Grogan, you won't be in the same room with him anymore." E.Q. pointed at Baron. "You'll sleep on the cot, and Cary will use a sleeping bag."

  "Now get up there and think about what you've done," said Lydia. "Think about how you'd feel if you were in Grogan's shoes. Think about how you're going to make it up to him."

  As the kids trooped upstairs, E.Q. shouted behind them. "I'm ashamed of every one of you!"

  "Think long and hard about this," said Lydia.

  "I will," said Cary, but his parents probably didn't mean it the way he did. They probably didn't want him to spend every waking moment thinking of how he was going to get revenge against Blacksheep.

  He was making it his mission in life to do exactly what he and his brother and sisters had been falsely accused of already.

  And he wouldn't care what the consequences might be. How could things get any worse?

  Grogan's trick was going to backfire. He'd fixed it so his enemies had nothing to lose.

  At the top of the stairs, Celeste ran into the bedroom, but Paisley stopped Cary by touching his arm. "Don't worry, Cary," she whispered. "It'll all work out."

  Baron turned, his features fixed in an icy glare. "Baa baa black sheep," he said. "Have you any wool?"

  Cary grinned. "Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full."

  "And the Nuclear Family's gonna take it all away," said Baron. "Baa baa baa."

  *****

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lilly, Pennsylvania

  Saturday, April 5, 1924, 9:45 PM

  A mob of local men stormed down Main Street, hauling Olenka's future husband between them...though Olenka did not yet know that she would someday marry him.

  "Who's that?" she said.

  "Let's find out." Father Stanislavski led her through the crowd that had grown in the middle of town after the two explosions. Most everyone who lived in Lilly was there, trying to decide what their next step should be.

  As the men with the captive swept past, the crowd followed them. Olenka and Father had to jog and weave between neighbors to get out ahead.

  The men stopped at one of the trains on the siding. Dominick and Nicolo each had hold of one of the captive's arms and pinned him back against the side of a black boxcar.

  "Hey, Father!" said Dominick. "We got the right man this time!"

  Stefan Volta swaggered forward with a sneer on his pockmarked face and a coil of rope in his hand. He was older than Dominick, in his mid-thirties or so, with unruly black hair, six kids, and a mean streak as wide as a coal seam.

  Olenka realized from his attitude that he was in charge now. "Who wants to do the honors?" When he lifted up the coil of rope, a loop swung free at the end of it.

  Olenka recognized it immediately as a hangman's noose.

  "Hey, buddy." Stefan held up the noose for the captive to see. "Isn't this what you Klannies use to kill people like us?"

  The man's eyes widened with visible terror.

  Olenka stared at him but didn't recognize him. She thought he looked like he was in his early twenties and more a farmer than a miner. He had bright blonde hair, plastered to his skull with sweat, and eyebrows and a mustache of the same color. His nose was long and sharp, his eyes pale blue. He was taller than either Dominick or Nicolo, and his frame was on the bony side.

  Olenka was fascinated by him. She knew Klansmen were ordinary people under their robes and masks, but she had a hard time imag
ining this young man in his red flannel shirt and bluejeans as a soldier in an army of evil.

  "Betcha didn't think you'd be the one swingin' from a tree tonight, son." Stefan laughed as he draped the noose around the man's neck. "Life's full a' surprises, huh?"

  "Excuse me." Father Stanislavski chose that moment to step forward. At seven feet tall, he towered over the rest of the crowd. "What's your name?"

  The captive's eyes only flickered away from the noose around his neck for an instant. "Max Beckenbauer," he said.

  "Thank you, Max." Father turned to Stefan. "And why do you think we should kill Max, did you say?"

  "He's Klan." Stefan glared at Max like he wanted to tear out his throat with his teeth. "It's them or us."

  "I understand," said Father. "But what has this man right here done wrong?"

  "He came to town with the rest of 'em," said Stefan. "To attack us."

  "And where did you find him?" said Father.

  "He was wanderin' around town."

  "Just wandering?" said Father. "And how many Klansmen were with him?"

  Stefan shrugged. "You'll haveta ask Yock. He's the one who found him."

  Father turned and scanned the crowd. "Hey, Yock! How many Klannies were with Max here when you found him?"

  Yock hollered back from the crowd. "None, I guess."

  "But you're sure he's a Klannie?" said Father.

  "If he's not, I don't know what the mask was for," said Yock.

  The crowd growled and mumbled. Father looked down and met Olenka's dark-eyed gaze. For an instant, she felt a flash of his hope, his determination to save the man's life...and underlaying it all, his own fear that he wouldn't succeed.

  He looked away from her. "He was wearing a Klan mask? A hood?"