The Masked Family

Chapter 3

Chapter 3Baltimore, Maryland, 2006If Spellerina were here, this guy would be one dead frog.

That was what Celeste Beacon was thinking as she sat in her favorite restaurant in town in her favorite red dress and got dumped by her favorite boyfriend of all time.

Abracadabra, dumbass! Take that!

Sure, Spellerina could have handled this...if Spellerina existed, that is. If only she were a real, live super-hero instead of a make-believe one Celeste had pretended to be as a little girl.

If only Celeste still had that stick she used to pretend was a magic wand, only it really was a magic wand this time, and she could zap the guy sitting across the table before he hurt her any more than he already had.

Where's the damn magic when you really need it?

"It's nothing you did." Eric, the freshly minted ex-boyfriend, gazed into Celeste's eyes with a look of intense sincerity. "I want you to know this is all on me."

All on him. I like that.

If he wanted it all on him, Celeste could oblige. She'd start by hitting him with her empty wine glass...the one he'd let her drain, refill, and drain again before letting her have it with the dumping speech. When the shards of glass were all on him, she'd follow up with the point of her shoe, jammed hard into his nuts. Then, she'd put the table on him, too, overturning it on top of him and jumping up and down on it as hard as she could.

That was what she wanted to do to him, anyway. If only she were the hard-bitten b***h she wished she could be, not the least bit afraid of unanticipated consequences and heavy public scenes.

Why can't I be the kind of person I hate?

"You've made me very happy." Eric still exuded sincerity from every pore. "It's just the rest of my life I'm not happy with. I need a fresh start, you know?"

Celeste broke eye contact and stared at the burning white candle stub in the center of the table. Even as her mind roiled with visions of violence, she couldn't quite believe what was happening.

Eric had completely surprised her. Earlier that day, when Celeste had put on her favorite little red dress and put up her long, blonde hair, she'd never suspected for a second that she was primping to get dumped.

She'd thought that things were going so well. The last two years had been great, with no bombshells or danger signs along the way. Finally, she'd thought, after her long record of bad choices, she'd found someone who was as perfectly matched to her as it was possible for another human being to be.

That was the first sign of danger right there.

"I'm moving to Colorado," said Eric. "A buddy of mine from school is setting up a chiropractic clinic, and he wants me to partner with him. It's a great opportunity."

Celeste stared blankly at the candle stub, thinking about a picture she would paint when she got home.

The image of it was as clear to her as if she were remembering a painting she'd already finished. Ninety percent of the painting would be a field of daisies, resplendent in midsummer sunlight. The heart of the image, however, positioned slightly northwest of dead center, would be a mangled, fetal creature hunched in a patch of blackened flowers. The gnomelike figure's gnarled hands would be full of dead daisies, contaminated by his touch; his face would be a twisted version of Eric's, decayed, surreal, but recognizable.

And she would sell this painting for a lot of money. Macabre stuff like that always sold best in her shop.

"This is an opportunity for you, too," said Eric. "You have a secret admirer."

Suddenly, Celeste's eyes snapped up from the candle stub. She stopped thinking about the daisies and deformed gnome.

"It's another reason why I'm stepping aside," said Eric. "I know you well enough to know you're this guy's total soul mate. He's had a thing for you ever since you met at his New Year's Eve party."

Celeste stared at Eric as if he'd just sprouted D-cup breasts. "Coley Bassinette?" she said, her voice dripping with disgust--not for Coley Bassinette, but for the moron ex-boyfriend who was actually trying to set her up with someone at the same time he was dumping her.

"Is it okay that I gave him your number?" said Eric.

So what if I can't ever go back to my favorite restaurant? It was worth it.

As Celeste rode home in the taxi, she couldn't help smiling. Every time she remembered the moment when she'd up-dumped the table on Eric, she could barely hold back the hysterical laughter.

Hysterical was the right word for it, too. The laughter definitely had an edge of rage and desperation. She was proud of herself for what she'd done, the bastard had deserved it...but he'd still come out the winner. Other than having to foot a dry cleaning bill to get dinner out of his clothes, he'd strolled off free and easy and unhurt.

I hope he dies. Even as Celeste thought it, she knew it lacked conviction. Up until an hour ago, she'd been all the way in love with him. She hadn't had nearly enough time to hate him properly.

I'll get there. One day at a time.

She just hoped her brother, Cary, wouldn't make her feel better too soon. She really wanted to nurse her hatred a good long while, and Cary had a way of helping her get over things fast. It figured, because his childhood super-hero code name in the Nuclear Family had been "The Hurry."

Would she be able to hold off calling him so she could nurse her grudge a little longer? No way. Celeste hadn't spoken to him in weeks, and she sure couldn't resist calling him with this news.

In fact, riding in the taxi made her look forward to talking to him even more. Cary's latest job was driving a cab. That and dressing up like a super-hero for parties, of course.

And being a full-blown super-hero in his own mind, don't forget. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Better to be a delusional wannabe super-hero than a selfish asshole who won't even ask to drive his ex-girlfriend home after he dumps her in public.

Cary really did make Celeste forget about Eric dumping her, it turned out...only not in the way she'd expected.

When she got home to her apartment over the shop where she sold her paintings, she called Cary's number again and again. No one picked up...not Cary, not Crystal, not even one of the kids. Nobody home.

No big deal, thought Celeste. People go out for the evening sometimes.

Two hours later, she was packing a bag, tying her hair in a ponytail, and getting ready to drive to Wheeling, West Virginia, which was where Cary lived.

When she thought about it later, on the way to Wheeling, she had trouble convincing herself that what she was doing made sense. So what if Cary hadn't answered a phone call in weeks? Most of his cab-driving shifts were at night, which was when Celeste usually called him. So what if she had a terrible feeling in her gut? Maybe that feeling had something to do with her just being dumped by her favorite boyfriend of all time.

Maybe she just needed to get out of town for a few days. Maybe she was hurt worse than she thought, and needed a face-to-face with Cary instead of just a phone call.

It wouldn't be the first time. Of the kids in the Beacon family, she and Cary had always been closest. Even decades ago, in the golden age of their childhood as the Nuclear Family, Celeste and Cary had stood more closely together than the others. Even back before what had happened in the fire, back when the brothers and sisters had all still been on speaking terms with each other, Celeste and Cary had been tight as twins.

He was her safety net. When all else and everyone failed, he would catch her. Just like he'd done the night of the fire, long ago...though he hadn't been able to save everyone.

To Celeste, he would always be a hero. To her mind, he was the only member of the Nuclear Family who had never stopped acting like one.

Maybe now it was time for someone else to be a hero for Cary. That was why, three hours after getting home from the dump-fest, Celeste tossed an overnight bag in the back of her silver Hyundai and headed west.

If her gut feeling was a false alarm, all the better. Getting some face time with her brother, especially after such a crappy day, was worth what she'd pay for the gas to get there.

If Cary really was in trouble, then she would be the cavalry. She wouldn't let him down.

The Nuclear Family took care of its own.

The survivors did, anyway. The survivors who were still on speaking terms with each other.

Two out of six, in other words.

Don't worry, Cary. Spellerina's coming.

Well, someone who used to pretend to be her, anyway.

Though Celeste was usually a careful driver, she floored the accelerator and flew down the interstate at eighty-five miles an hour, pointed toward West Virginia.