The Bad Ones (4 page)

By the time Con got back to Chuck Beaty, the kid had been coming to, thank god. Con was able to get him onto his feet before the principal showed up. At least it didn't look quite as bad as it had before, and despite the little shit Gary whining about being threatened, Con was able to convince the principal it had just been a scrap. Just boys being boys, some healthy rivalry.

If there hadn't been a game the following weekend, Con was sure he would've been in big trouble. But the match was an important one against a long standing rival, and without Con, their team would lose. He watched as the principal struggled with what to do about the situation.

“I can't keep letting these things go, Masters,” he grumbled. Chuck was leaning up against a wall, his head in his hands, not quite “there” enough to offer his two cents. “I
have
to do something.”

“Understandable,” was all Con said in response

“Alright. Three days suspension. Banned from any future dances. And I have to call your parents. Okay?” the principal asked. Gary made a noise like he wanted to argue, but Con just nodded.

“Fine.”

“No more fighting, Masters.”

“No more.”

“And no more funny business. I heard something about a fire a couple weeks ago, your name was -”

“
Got it
. Let's go.”

Con didn't bother waiting, he turned and led the way out of the gym.

Being a teenager was a strange process, Con had always felt. He didn't feel young. He didn't feel any particular age. He felt like he was always going through the motions, always pretending to be something he wasn't; something he didn't want to be, anymore.

The only time he felt real was when he was doing something
wrong
. And not like cutting class or cheating on a test. Like setting Chuck's car on fire. Or the time he'd beaten the shit out of some guy, after a game in a neighboring town. Or when he'd kissed Dulcie. Only when he was completely letting go did he truly feel free.

So sitting in the office, listening to his dad yell at both the principal and himself, Con didn't feel real. He felt like a paper doll, just sitting in a chair, waiting for his dad to pick him up and move him. Tell him how to be, tell him what to do, until the moment came when he could be himself again.

After the principal had been reminded of exactly
WHO
Con's father was, and exactly
HOW
valuable Con's arm was to the town, they left. The elder Masters went home in his own car, and Con followed close behind in his truck. He didn't want to go home. He wanted to find Dulcie and finish what they'd started. Whatever the hell it had been.

It was a human sacrifice, and she was offering herself to your altar
.

“
What the fuck is wrong with you, Constantine!?
”

Con sighed as they walked through their front door and his father instantly began yelling. It wasn't a surprise. Once upon a time, Jebediah Masters had used his fists to keep his son in line. But then Con had gotten bigger than his dad, and he'd never been afraid to hit back. So the striking had taken a back burner to preaching. His father could talk and talk and talk – before becoming mayor, he'd been a very successful lawyer.

“
Don't you talk to my son that way!
”

Ah, Mrs. Masters joined the fray, complete with martini in hand. She, unfortunately, was not bigger than her husband, and her face sported fresh bruises to attest to that fact. It didn't bother Con – his mother had been an absent figure in his life, spending most of her time in bigger cities. When she had been home, she'd always turned a blind eye to the hitting and shouting. Defending Con now, it was just ammunition against her husband. Another reason to yell at each other.

While the two “adult” Masters screamed and shrieked at each other, Con sat down at the head of their twelve seat dining room table. It had been set for the holiday season, complete with garland laced with purple tinsel and orange candles burning down the length of it.

He stared into a flame while he listened to his parents argue.
Parents.
More like animals. It would explain a lot, really. A harpy and a snake, snarling and hissing at each other. Trying to draw blood, but neither brave enough to actually do it.

Con was brave enough, though. He was a different kind of beast.

Just burn it all.

He reached out and tipped over the candle that was directly in front of him. The flame flickered as it hit the table top, but didn't go out. The pillar of wax rolled into the garland, which quickly caught on fire. The plastic tinsel acted like a fuse and it was only a matter of seconds before the entire runner was up in flames.

Con wasn't a pyromaniac, not at all. Fire was just quickest and easiest. He'd set Chuck's car on fire simply because he'd had a lighter on him. If he'd only had a bat, he would've beaten the shit out of the car. If he'd had a gun, he would've shot his parents. But all he had was a flame and a thought, and without bothering to dwell much on either, he set their dining room table on fire. While he watched the flames grow and spread and drip down onto an expensive Persian rug, his mind was miles away.

I wonder what Dulcie tastes like. I wonder if she'd let me bite hard enough to find out.

No one knew Gary Eckland existed, let alone listened to him, so word never got around about Dulcie and Con's private little moment. No one would have believed it, anyway. Half the time, even she didn't believe it had really happened.

News about the “fight” between Con and Chuck did spread around, though. Some stories claimed Con had beaten him to within an inch of his life. Other tales claimed Chuck had almost won, and Con had just gotten in a sucker punch. No one knew the truth, except for Dulcie and Con. She wasn't talking and Con was suspended, so the stories went unchecked.

She didn't speak to him for almost the entire month of November. More rumors swirled, talk of the fire department being called to the Masters household. He came back to school for one day, then the team left for an away game, which they of course won. Two weeks later, Thanksgiving break happened. Two weeks after, Christmas break. The Masters took their annual trip to Vail to go skiing.

Dulcie worked through the holidays and avoided home as much as possible. Matt, her crazy half-brother, had been getting even crazier. She'd come out of the bathroom fresh from a shower more than once to find him lurking near the door. Her mother was also spending more time at home, but that wasn't any help – she turned tricks to her husband's friends in exchange for drugs, which her husband then sold for money that he kept for himself.

Weeks turned into months. Winter into spring. Dulcie had dreams about a shadowy man, stealing her away and carrying her into the night. Kissing her in the dark and touching her in ways that had her waking up in a hot sweat, panting for more.

But Con wasn't saying anything. It was like nothing had ever happened. The most profound moment in her short life, and he acted as if it hadn't even mattered. Of course, maybe it hadn't. Con kissed lots of girls. Had slept with lots of girls, had lots of girlfriends. Kissing Dulcie was just more of the same for him, probably.

No. He felt it. We were in that space together.

It didn't matter. They bumped into each other a couple times. One time, they'd even somehow wound up in the main hallway together, after the last bell for class had rung. She'd been fighting to get her portfolio into her bag and had dropped it. Before she could pick it up, someone was standing in front of her and grabbing it off the floor.

He'd asked her how her art project had turned out, if she'd been able to make it work without her camera. She'd been shocked he'd even remembered breaking her camera. Before she could answer, though, half the football team had flooded into the hallway. Con made a joke about asking if Dulcie did nude portraits, and everyone laughed. Then he winked at her and walked off with his friends. As if she was just some regular girl he could flirt with and tease.

I am NOT a regular girl, Constantine Masters
.

Similar incidents happened. He'd magically appear in a place she'd be – the library, the art room, the back gym – but before anything could be said, someone would interrupt them. And it was like watching a mask fall over someone's face. He would smile and he would be cute, but it wasn't Con. She just
knew
it wasn't him.

Graduation day came and while most kids were excited, Dulcie felt like she was being strangled. It was like Con had brought something to life in her, then taken it away just as abruptly. Most juniors were celebrating become seniors, and all the seniors were celebrating the end of high school. There were parties everywhere, every night. She wanted to go, wanted to corner him somewhere, wanted to kick and scratch and bite until he recognized her for what she really was –
his reflection
.

But she was weak, and she was nervous, and when all was said and done, she was just a seventeen year old girl. A stupid, stupid seventeen year old girl, who had been cliché enough to fall for the good looking jock.

Little red riding hood fell for the wolf
.

And so it was that Constantine Masters graduated with valedictorian honors, to high praise and accolades, and gave a grand speech at the commencement ceremony. People cried and people laughed. Oh, that Con, so good at saying all the right things.

Dulcie didn't see any of it. She sat under the bleachers and put her headphones on and drifted away. To a shadowy place, where evil things could fulfill their dark wants and needs, and not be troubled with the bright and shiny world.

Being a teenager is so very black and white. I long for technicolor.

*

Dulcie held out hope that after graduation, after everything had settled down, Con would seek her out. He knew where she worked, knew she spent a lot of time at the library. But her dream quickly died – she found out Con had left town one week after graduation. He would be spending the summer in California with family, then he'd go directly to school in Ohio. There was a very real possibility Dulcie would never see him again.

Once again, she wasn't sad. She was
angry
. Con had ruined something great. Taken something away from her. She couldn't possibly have imagined it. It had only been a moment in time, but it had been one of the greats. Something she'd remember for a long time. One kiss, and no other guy would compare. It wasn't fair.

About a month after graduation, she came home in the afternoon from working a breakfast shift at the diner. She grimaced at the sight in the living room. Her step-father in his boxer shorts, sitting on the couch spread-eagle while he snored away. Her mother was in a slip and she sat up as Dulcie entered the trailer.

“Hey, baby! Glad yer home, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages,” her mother cooed as she climbed to her feet.

Mrs. Bottle – formerly Mrs. Travers, formerly Mrs. Reid, formerly Tessa Banks – had the soft accent that was common in the area, yet had somehow missed her daughter. Not quite southern, but almost. Country, that's what Dulcie called it in her mind. A distinct twang. Not everyone had it, and she wasn't quite sure why that was, but her mother's family had lived in West Virginia for years. All the Banks' had it – Dulcie's grandpa's was so thick, sometimes he was hard to understand, but she loved it. Sometimes wished she had it. Wondered if it would soften her.

“You saw me last night, Momma,” she sighed, keeping her head down as she headed towards the hallway.

She hated looking at her mother because they looked very much alike. Her eyes, her lips, her hair color – her most distinct features, she'd gotten them all from her mother. Looking at Tessa Bottle, Dulcie felt like she was looking at her potential future, and it wasn't pretty.

“I did?” Tessa sounded unsure. Dulcie wasn't surprised, the woman had been high out of her mind.

“Yes. Look, I'm really tired. We can talk later, yeah?” Dulcie suggested, knowing full well that wouldn't happen. Later, Tessa would either be high, or busy “earning her keep”.

“Sure, baby. Oh! You got a package. I left it on your bed,” her mother informed her.

Dulcie froze for a second, then rushed down the hallway. Nothing was safe in the house, she never left anything private or worth money in her room. She wasn't expecting any packages, had no clue what it was, but knew it would draw unwanted attention.

She wasn't wrong.

“What are you doing!?” she shouted, bursting into her room just in time to see her half-brother Matt standing by her bed, shaking a brown box between his hands.

“Wha'd you get?” he asked, holding the package up to his ear and shaking it harder.

“How would I know? I haven't opened it. Get out of my room,” she demanded, hurrying around her bed and reaching for the box. Matt backed up and held it out of her reach.

“Aw, c'mon, we're family. You have to share,” he teased, stepping backwards.

“Give me the box, Matt,” she growled, reaching for it again.

“Work for it, Dulcie.”

She jumped up, trying to snatch the box, and he snaked an arm around her waist, yanking her close. She almost gagged as she fell against his bare chest. He was only wearing a pair of baggy jeans, showing off a sickly thin torso that was covered in misspelled tattoos. She forgot the package and tried to pull free from him, causing them to stumble across the room.

“If you don't get your goddamn hands off me, I swear to god, I will -”

“Mmm, Dulcie, you smell you good.”

She felt his nose against her hair. Matt had always been …
strange
towards her. They'd never been close. He was eight years older than her, and when he'd been thirteen, he'd run away to live with his father. She'd only been five at the time. Then he'd shown back up when he was twenty-one, and she'd been thirteen. She'd never felt like he was her brother, and obviously, he felt the same way.

I wish he would just overdose already and put himself out of my misery
.

They were near her door and Dulcie managed to wiggle an arm free of his grasp. She reached out and grabbed a piggy bank off her dresser, swinging it around and slamming it against the side of his head. The thick porcelain shattered, showering them both in loose change and sending Matt to his knees with a groan. She yanked the package out of his hands and tossed it onto the bed.

“Don't ever fucking touch me again!” she hissed, moving around and planting her foot squarely in the middle of his back. He fell forward, through the open doorway and into the hall. Then she slammed her door shut behind him.

She immediately went around to the other side of her dresser and shoved as hard as she could. The piece of furniture was old and made of a heavy wood, not to mention the fact it was full of her clothing. But she'd had a lot of practice moving it, and after she gritted her teeth and put some extra elbow grease into it, it slid across the floor. She kept pushing till it blocked the entrance to her room. Matt had apparently gotten to his feet, because he started banging on the door. Dulcie ignored him and picked up a thick piece of two-by-four that was just inside her closet. She dropped to her knees, wedging the wood between the dresser and her bed frame. Her door was now impossible to open.

“You stupid bitch! You better stay in there, cause if you come out here, I'll make you sorry you ever fucked with me!” Matt was practically screaming.

The door was shut, so he was no longer an issue. He could scream all night and it wouldn't bother Dulcie. She knew he'd eventually lose interest, or get into a fight with Tessa's husband, or get high and forget he was mad. Whatever.

She dropped her messenger bag to the floor and crawled to the center of her bed, picking up the package. It was wrapped in brown paper and had her name on it, along with her address, written in big block letters. No return address. No other information, period. She frowned and began ripping the packaging paper away.

There was gift wrap underneath, with a large, square envelope taped to the top of the box. Again, her name was on it, but just in plain capital letters. Nothing distinct about it. She pulled it away and sat it next to her on the bed, then continued unwrapping her mystery mail.

When about half the paper was ripped off, she was shocked to the see the product on the box's label. She didn't want to get her hopes up, though – people packed socks in blender boxes, so who knew what was really inside it. She quickly ripped through some tape and yanked the box apart.

Nope. The label hadn't been a lie. Someone had sent her a brand new digital camera.
Better
than the one that had gotten destroyed last fall. She turned the machine over in her hands. It was nice, and probably very expensive.

Who the hell would send me a camera!?

Dulcie scrambled to open the envelope that had been taped to the camera box. There was a card inside, but it was blank on the cover. She opened it and there was no printed message inside, either. Just a personal, handwritten note to her.

Dulcie -

I couldn't say goodbye. I won't say I'm sorry, because I'm not, and I think you know why.

I should've gotten this for you sooner. You see things other people don't. Take pictures, and then look at them and draw what you really see in the frames.

Don't be afraid.

And don't disappoint me.

Constantine

Dulcie was breathing hard by the time she got to the end of the note. She'd known it. She'd been right. It wasn't just her, it wasn't just some random moment in time. It had been realer than anything she'd ever experienced. This life, her home, her job, all of it was dishwater bland. Out of focus and blurry. Constantine Masters, now there was some high-definition for her life.

I'll take those pictures, and I'll draw what I see, and when you come back for me, you'll see that we're the same
.