Part Two, Chapter Fifteen: Family Secrets

Eventually, several days later, Beatrice had to leave the hospital and go home.

Well, Charlie's home, technically. The penthouse apartment. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to see Charlie, because she didn't want to be mad at her.

But she was.

She was mad even though Charlie hadn't really done anything wrong. Still, realizing that didn't help the sense of betrayal she felt every time she remembered Charlie's words.

So, back at the apartment, she immediately locked herself in one of the guest rooms and turned on the Television. She didn't feel like watching anything, she really just wanted to drown out the sound of Charlie coming home from work.

She had successfully avoided her for almost a week, and she didn't know what to do about the situation at this point. The problem felt insurmountable.

Eventually, there was a knock at the door. Beatrice ignored it.

After a brief pause, another knock, this one more urgent, more demanding. She held her resolve to remain silent, and pretend she wasn't there.

A third knock.

"B? Are you in there?" Charlie said. Beatrice winced at the sound of her voice, of the unsureness that was there.

She rubbed her temples and frowned.

"Yeah." She said after several seconds.

"Can I come in?" Charlie asked.

Beatrice sighed and stood up. She walked over, and hit the button that opened the door to the bedroom. Charlie stood there, mouth slightly open, but said nothing. She seemed to be at a loss for words.

"What is it?" She asked. It came out more aggressive than she meant it to.

"I, uhm—" Charlie nervously rubbed the back of her head. "I needed to talk to you about something."

"Okay?" Beatrice said.

"Uh, my dad, he wants to, uh. He wants you to come over to his house, so he can talk to you." Charlie stuttered out. She ended the sentence with a wince, like she was already expecting Beatrice to snap at her.

"No."

"Oh, uh—"

"Why would I ever agree to that?" Beatrice snapped. "Why would I want to see him?"

"B—"

"Your dad hates me anyway, Charlie. How do I know he's not going to have me shipped off to be experimented on as soon as I get there?"

Charlie flinched slightly at her words, and, for a moment, a pang of guilt shot through her. Her face softened, and she glanced away in embarrassment.

"I— I'm sorry, B. I shouldn't— I shouldn't have—"

"You know what?" Beatrice cut her off. "It's fine. I'll go. I'll see what he has to say for himself."

"Really?" Charlie asked softly.

"Yes." Beatrice said, even though she really didn't want to.

This was for Charlie.

Charlie's father's house was just as ostentatious as Charlie's apartment, though in its own separate way. While the apartment was sleek, modern, and almost clinical, it seemed that the family's main estate was the exact opposite.

Even though it was new construction, the sprawling mansion was built in a traditional style, with a colonial interior, mostly in shades of red and blue. The furniture was made to look antique, but it didn't have any of the wear and tear of actual antiques, let alone the charm. Beatrice didn't like the way all of it tried to mimic an old, comforting style. It felt deceitful, untrustworthy.

Like most rich people.

She was already seated, somewhat awkwardly, beside Charlie in the dining room. There was already food on the table, and a woman who was apparently Mr. Delacqua's assistant, had told them that he would be with them shortly.

"Do you usually have to schedule meetings to see your own father?" Beatrice asked.

"Only during weekdays." Charlie said. "And sometimes on Saturdays too, but not usually on Sundays."

"I guess I can't say anything. I don't even know who my father is." Beatrice responded dryly.

Before Charlie could remark on that, the French doors opened with an out of place beep, and Mr. Delacqua walked in. Beatrice had only met him a handful of times, and he had never looked happy to see her.

Today was not an exception.

He sat down across from the two of them, and adjusted his tie.

"Good afternoon, Beatrice. You look well." He said, way too professionally.

A lie, Beatrice thought to herself. She had hardly gotten any sleep in a week. She knew she looked awful.

"Okay." Was her reply to him.

"How is your brother?" He asked. Beatrice bit her lip and resisted the urge to snap at him.

"Still unconscious." She replied.

Charlie cleared her throat.

"Yes, well, do we want to eat first or—"

"I'm not hungry." Beatrice cut her off.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Well, I guess there's really no need for formalities, then." Mr. Delacqua said. "Just like everyone else, I'm sure you want to hear my explanation for this... unfortunate situation. I understand that it already looks bad in the media—"

"It doesn't just look bad." Beatrice snapped. "It is bad. Imprisoning people and experimenting on them is, objectively, a bad thing to do, or to be involved with in any way."

Mr. Delacqua didn't miss a beat.

"Right, yes. And I'm sure you want me to tell you that I had no idea that any of this was going on."

Beatrice stayed as still as a statue, arms crossed, and didn't respond. She found the question too asinine.

"Well, I mean, you didn't. Right? Right dad?" Charlie said. Her voice was unusually quiet, unusually unsure.

Beatrice's gaze hardened even further.

"You see, I can't say that. Because I did know— not that your brother was there, of course, but I did know the purpose of the company."

"Dad!" Charlie choked out. "What the hell!"

"Man, this makes me kind of glad I don't have any parents to disappoint me." Beatrice said.

"You have to understand, I only did it to keep Charlie safe."

"I don't understand." Beatrice said. "How does willfully participating in the violation of human rights offer Charlie any protection from anything?"

Charlie frowned and shook her head.

"I don't understand either."

Mr. Delacqua sighed, and picked up the glass of lemon water in front of him, the item any of them had touched since sitting at the table. Lemon water. Beatrice hated it. After a long sip, he sat the glass back down, and looked up at the two of them, his blue eyes meeting Charlie's.

"You see, when I realized that these companies were starting up, these companies that were using mutant prisoners to try and create compounds that made their mutations transferable, I feared that, eventually, the prisoners wouldn't be enough. I feared that eventually they would focus on getting any powers from anyone. I feared that would put Charlie at risk.

So I bought all of them out, under the table. It might seem unethical, but I knew this activity was going to go on, regardless of the legality of it all. It was so I could keep a closer eye on them, and make sure they never took any interest in my daughter."

"Okay... but Charlie isn't a mutant." Beatrice said. "So why would you even be worried about something like that?"

"Yeah," Charlie said, adding a slight nod of agreement. "I think I would know if I was a mutant."

"You're not a mutant... that we know of." Mr. Delacqua said, in a very careful sort of way. He was hiding something, and Beatrice could tell.

"So you did all of this just on the off chance of something that is highly improbable anyway?" Beatrice asked.

"Not highly improbable. The chance is closer to, say 50/50." He said.

"What?" Charlie asked.

Beatrice didn't need clarification. She knew exactly what the implication was.

"He's saying that one of your parents is a mutant." She said, "From the sound of it, I would guess it was your mother."

This time, the silence that passed between them was long and thick. Beatrice could swear that she could hear the sound of Charlie blinking.

"Wh- dad, is that true?"

"Yes, but-"

"Dad, why wouldn't you tell me? What the hell! After all of this time? And, and why wouldn't you have me tested so that I could know? I'm an adult, dad! Were you just going to hide this from me forever? Was I never supposed to know? I-"

"Charlie, please." Mr. Delacqua cut her off. "I need you to understand that I didn't mean to hurt you by keeping this from you. The power that your mother had, suffice to say, it is dangerous enough that I didn't think anyone, even you yourself, should know that it might even exist."

"But I'm an adult!" Charlie repeated, "Shouldn't I make a decision like that for myself?!"

"I didn't say that I did the right thing, I just-"

"What's the power?" Beatrice cut him off, crossing her arms over her chest. "If it's so dangerous, what is it?"

Mr. Delacqua sighed.

"Charlie, your mother had a... unique ability. She could change the minds of those around her in a way that was so subtle, that those who were being manipulated wouldn't even realize it was happening. She could bend the will of others so effectively, that things always seemed to just go her way.

When she was a teenager, if she wanted to sneak out, she could influence her parents not to check on her. When she was an adult, she could get any job, right at the interview, no matter how unqualified she was. No one would even realize that the ideas she planted in their minds weren't their own.

And it ruined her life, Charlie. She hated it. When we married, I helped her to create an entirely new identity, so she could finally be free of everyone wanting to use her for their own gain. I didn't want the same thing to happen to you, Charlie. I wanted you to have a normal life."

Some kind of normal life, Beatrice thought. How could anyone have a normal life, growing up grotesquely rich and famous.

After a moment, Beatrice realized Charlie wasn't saying anything. Her head was down, and she wasn't looking at anyone or anything in the room.

"Charlie, please. You have to understand how much danger you would be in if anyone knew that there was even the possibility of you having this power. Supervillains, politicians, foreign dignitaries... Everyone would be after you. They would do anything they could to get you to help them bend the world to their will.

I didn't want you to have that burden."

Beatrice stayed silent. It didn't feel like her place to say anything at the moment.

Charlie's chair squealed as she suddenly stood up.

"I'm going home. I can't deal with this right now."

"Charlie, wait!" Mr. Delacqua said.

But Charlie was already leaving the room. Beatrice gave Mr. Delacqua an even stare, and followed Charlie out of the room.

At least it seemed they were both on the same page at the moment.