Twisted Strings of Fate
Chapter 14
My mother's birth was the easiest for my grandmother. This is unusual since my grandmother was over forty years of age, a time when childbirth was extremely dangerous and painful. But she didn't have to do it alone.
In that time period, men weren't allowed in the birthing room. As my mother was born, my grandfather knew the exact moment she was pushed out of the womb because he was writhing on the floor of the hospital, experiencing the pain for my grandmother.
But not all of it. After all, he didn't have certain parts to feel the pain. The contractions involving the stomach muscles, the strain of pushing a baby out into the world, those he felt. My grandmother took on the rest of the pain, the first and last pain she felt since meeting my grandfather.
It was a joke of his that he gave birth to his daughter. My grandmother said that it was a joint effort, that they did it together. It made my mother special.
It was a lesson of love that I cherished all my life.
But it also taught me another valuable lesson.
With all inside the McDuck mansion incapacitated or captured, Negaduck prepared for the coming of Darkwing.
It was like the mansion was his personal playground, designed just for him to redecorate with surprises and traps. Whoever this McDuck was, he was a master at collecting the most intriguing items. Medieval torture instruments, weapons from all over the world, modern appliances and conveniences that could be torn apart and put back together in so many different ways.
It was a wonderland.
Working fast, Negaduck prepared the lay of the land to his advantage. He closed shades and shutters and blinds where there were some, and the windows that couldn't be blocked, well, there were old cans of paint that he splattered against glass to block out the light.
Dark and gloomy, the stage was set. Now for the props. Duct tape, mouse traps, springs, strings and wire were his bread and butter as he attached them to knives, scissors, spikes, anything sharp he could find.
He was tempted to break off more outlet covers and stripe wires for more traps involving electricity, but he couldn't risk it. Electricity was unpredictable. In the dark, the trap could go off for the wrong person. Or worse, kill someone before he was ready to kill them.
Once he had raided the kitchen and several other rooms, he returned to the garage. When he was turning on and off the electricity before, he hadn't had time to rummage around the crowded space. But now, he was able to take in the riches it had to offer.
Swords, spears, axes, maces, and an assortment of melee weapons were at his disposal. Oh yes, this Scrooge McDuck was a man after his own heart. Too bad the old fart had an aversion to modern warfare. Negaduck could use a good revolver or two in his schemes.
After one trip to remove an armful of iron and steel, he returned, crashing to the ground as his feet fumbled over something large and heavy. Anger surged through him at having been interrupted in his plans, but when he saw what he tripped over, he felt something akin to a purr in his throat.
His hands cradled the square case that contained the engine, gripping the handle and swinging the long, toothed blade in an arc.
He smiled down at the chainsaw. Oh, yes. This was more like it. This was just what he needed.
At that moment, he heard a noise beyond the thin wall of the garage. It sounded like a vehicle pulling up to the mansion.
"Time to play," Negaduck cackled, taking his new toy with him into the dark mansion.
Darkwing marched forward, determined.
"Where are you going?" Charity shouted, grabbing his hand.
"It's me that Starling wants," Darkwing said, whirling around. "And that's who he's going to get."
"No!" Charity pulled him away. "You can't go."
Clenching his teeth, Darkwing turned his head away. "Everyone, including you, is in danger."
As if to prove his point, a line of red appeared on Charity's cheek like an artist ran a brush of watery paint over her feathers. She flinched and moved her head so that it was covered by her hair.
"Stop it!" Darkwing shouted, turning to glare at the mansion. "I'm coming. Just leave her alone."
"No, you're not," Charity ordered.
"I have to," Darkwing argued. "This is my fault. Starling is this way because of me. Everything he has done, it's my fault." It was still a sore spot for him, causing his childhood hero to become a villain.
"That's not true. You're not responsible for his actions," Charity shouted, her face a mixture of anger and fear. "Besides, if you walk in there, you're not saving anyone, especially not me. Your pain is mine."
"He doesn't plan on hurting me," Darkwing said, a bitterness in his voice. "Because he won't risk hurting you."
Charity shook her head, not understanding. "Then what does he want…" Then her eyes widened. "No. You don't mean he'll kill you." But she knew it to be true. "No! I'd rather he cut me over and over than for you to go in there."
"Charity, you can't—" But he wasn't able to finish his sentence as Charity threw her arms around his neck, holding him tight. "Charity," he said in a softer voice.
"If you go, then you'll have to take me, too." She tightened her grip. "I'm not letting you go in there alone."
Darkwing was about to challenge her claim, but he stopped. If he was going to walk to his doom, he might as well take one last advantage of the situation. He wrapped his arms around Charity' waist, holding her tight. He buried his face into her long curls and, for a second, let himself believe that everything was fine.
Then he slid his hands up her arms and put pressure on her wrists, forcing her to let him go.
"No!" she shouted, feeling hysterical. Her feelings were starting to overwhelm her at the thought of losing Darkwing. She couldn't lose him. She couldn't lose any of them.
"Launchpad, stop him," she ordered frantically, pointing at the retreating backside of the hero.
Her words weren't necessary. The larger duck was already in a collision course, tackling Darkwing to the ground.
Charity grunted as she felt both of their injuries.
"Let me go, Launchpad," Darkwing demanded, wrestling with his friend.
"I'm not going to let you do this, DW," Launchpad said. "You remember episode 31? You should know from Darkwing Duck that there's always more than one option."
The two rolled around on the ground, shouting and grunting at each other, both trying very hard to overpower the other without hurting his opponent.
"If you two are done, I think I have a more logical solution to the problem," Fenton said, stepping in front of the others, his eyes scanning the mansion. In his arms, he had a collection of Gizmoduck parts and other odds and ends. While the others had been preoccupied with Darkwing's death wish, he had been busy.
At Fenton's words, Launchpad and Darkwing exchanged glances before standing mutually.
"Okay, I'll hear you out. But if I'm not satisfied, I'm going in," Darkwing said, dusting off his costume and adjusting his hat.
"I've been scanning the mansion this whole time, and I can get an approximate location of Starling," Fenton said. He raised his hand and pointed to the second floor. "He's there, watching at that window."
Charity gasped, holding her arm just above the burn. "He didn't like that," she muttered.
Darkwing frowned, his eyes narrowing. "So?"
"There's four of us and one of him. We out number him," Fenton said. "Plus, if we can rescue his captives, there will be more of us."
"Can you locate everyone?" Darkwing asked, sounding as if he was ready to get down to business.
"I see one on the second floor and the rest in the basement," Fenton said, moving his head toward these areas. "However, I don't know how well my contact lenses will work inside the mansion. I've been getting unusual feedback that has been disrupting my lenses."
"Mr. McDuck does have a lot of magical items," Charity suggested, remembering Mrs. Beakley's warning. "That might be the reason."
Fenton frowned at that, snorting at the notion of magic.
"And how do we deal with Starling? We can't exactly fight him," Darkwing asked.
"Don't worry. I have gifts," Fenton said. He went to Darkwing first, flung away his wide-brimmed hat and jammed the Gizmoduck helmet onto the mallard's head.
"Hey! I'm not wearing this piece of junk," Darkwing growled, reaching up to take it off.
"This piece of junk will give you night vision," Fenton said, slapping his hands away. "If you haven't noticed, Starling has blocked out all of the windows. He's been in there unsupervised for who knows how long, so we could be walking into anything. As the best fighter we have, you need this advantage."
Darkwing paused, considering Fenton's words.
"I assume you still carry your arsenal of weapons that I designed. The gas gun? The grappling hook? The smoke grenades and flash bombs?"
"Yeah."
"Everything is non-lethal and should work on Starling."
"Everything?"
"Remember my experiments?" Fenton asked pointedly.
Darkwing remembered them alright.
"For you, Launchpad." Fenton handed a length of rope he had taken out of Gizmoduck. On the end was a ball of duct tape that had something heavy inside it. "Don't use it unless we find Starling."
That's when he faced Charity and handed her an iron bar that was the limousine's tire iron. "I know that using this will only result in you getting hurt, so be smart about it," Fenton said. Then he gestured to his temple. "A blow here will knock him out. Same with the back of the head. Hit him here and his vision will be impaired." He tapped between his brows. "Hitting his beak will stun him. He won't feel pain, but it may give you enough time to get away."
"Wait. Charity isn't coming with us," Darkwing shouted, stepping between the girl and Fenton.
"So we should just leave her here where Starling can grab her," Fenton argued.
"The car has locks."
"She would be safer with us."
"Or she can drive away."
"Guys, I'm right here," Charity yelled, pushing the two away. "And I'm going." She tightened her grip around the tire iron. She wasn't sure if she had it in her to use it against Starling, but the fact that Fenton had given it to her made her confidence grow.
"But—" Darkwing started but couldn't finish. His eyes had fallen onto Charity's shoulder.
The lovebird barely realized that she had another gash, blood soaking into her sweater. So much of her body was in pain, one more wound was only a drop in the bucket. "We can argue all day, Darkwing. He'll only keep cutting," Charity told the crime-fighter. "I'm coming."
"I agree with Charity and Fenton," Launchpad stepped in. "I don't think she should be left alone. I'd rather she be where I can protect her."
"Then the two of you should stay here. Fenton and I will go in and—"
"I'm not leaving kids in there," Launchpad argued, his voice impacting the others that there would be no more arguing.
"At least let me bandage you up," Darkwing said, giving in.
"With what?" Charity asked. With no first aid kit, she assumed clothing would be the next option. Using her curved beak, she bit into the shoulder seam of her sweater and tore away her sleeve. And just to be symmetrical, she did the same with her other one.
After ripping the sleeves into strips, Darkwing wrapped Charity's newest wounds in the thick cloth and tied them tight.
"What about you, Fenton?" Charity asked, holding out her hand for Darkwing to wrap up her wounds. "You should have something to defend yourself with?"
Fenton smiled and tapped his head. "Ah, but I do. The greatest weapon known to man. My brain."
Darkwing rolled his eyes.
"Oh, and this," Fenton waved his arm which had a large chunk of metal that could only be Gizmoduck's pilfered forearm. "It's a bit damaged, but I think it has a few pies left in the chamber."
"Great. Pies," Darkwing muttered. "If Starling has diabetes, then we're set."
Charity smirked, for once finding humor in Darkwing's mocking of Gizmoduck. "At least we won't go hungry."
As he tied off the last bandage around her calf, he looked her in the eyes, deadly serious. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"As Launchpad said, there're kids in there. I'm not backing down," she replied.
"Then I've got something for you." He took her hand and gave her a handful of pellets. "Flashbangs and smoke bombs."
"Thanks," Charity said, tucking them into her jeans pocket. "Now give me back my tire iron."
Darkwing Duck's shoulders sagged, but he handed it over. "Without a weapon, he might not target you."
"I hope he targets me," Charity said, snatching her weapon back. "He can hurt me, but he won't kill me. Now let's get going before he really loses his patience." She took the lead toward the mansion.
As they passed by the fountain, she took a glance at her reflection. With arms bare up to the shoulders, this was more skin showing than she was used to. It had been her default wardrobe to wear long pants and long sleeves. It prevented unwanted questions about bruises, scrapes and burns from teachers and neighbors.
She couldn't help but think she looked like a survivor from a combat movie. She had been through so much in the past few days, part of her had hardened. She was tougher, stronger, and braver. She had changed. At the beginning of this adventure, she may have balked at the idea of entering a building that had a madman inside that was not above cutting her to get what he wanted. But now, she was ready for this.
And Darkwing only wanted her to have frickin' smoke bombs.
Cautiously, the group moved up the stone steps and opened the front door, which was ajar. A rectangle of light from the door left a clear line between safety and danger.
As Charity's feet breached the darkness, she couldn't help but compare the situation to one of those haunted walkways that always pop up everywhere during Halloween. But this one came with higher stakes. She needed a way to diffuse her fear.
"Hey, Launchpad," she said, looking up at her friend with a smirk. "Are you ready for danger?"
Launchpad, knowing what she was after, nudged her. "I'm so ready for danger. How about everyone else?"
"Uh…not really," Fenton said softly.
Darkwing didn't pay them any mind. "Fenton, is Starling still upstairs?"
Fenton blinked rapidly. "I think so. Whatever is disrupting my lenses, it's stronger inside the mansion."
By now, they were in the middle of the foyer, their eyes slowly adjusting to less and less light.
"So, should we go upstairs where it's more…dangerous?" Charity asked, the silliness of her words fighting against her desire to run away.
"I don't know. Sounds…dangerous," Launchpad added, mimicking her tone.
They both looked to Darkwing Duck.
"Why do you two keep saying 'dangerous'?" Fenton asked, his voice rising in pitch.
"Because he hasn't said it," Charity said, nodding to Darkwing as she inched toward the stairs. "He always says it before a battle."
"What are you talking about?" Fenton asked.
"Come on. Say it," Launchpad said, his eyes roaming the room as if expecting the shadows to come to life—which in his defense had happened before.
"This isn't some TV show," Darkwing growled. For the first time, he doubted his decision to take on this masked identity. He was no super-hero. He was an actor. He had no right to be leading this group into what could possibly be their death.
"For crap's sake. We're freaking out right now," Charity said, her voice mimicking Fenton's. "Just say it."
"But what good will it—"
"Say it," Launchpad shouted, grabbing his collar and shaking him.
And even if Drake Mallard was useless in this kind of situation, he knew that for Charity and Launchpad, he represented more than just a man in a costume. They needed to know that Darkwing Duck was at their side. This may not be a TV show, but if they acted like it was one, maybe they would also believe that it would end like one, with the bad guy in jail and the good guy triumphant again.
"Okay," Darkwing said, reaching up to grab his hat only to push down instead on the Gizmoduck helmet. "Let's get dangerous."
"Is that an invitation?"
The group of four turned to this new voice that reverberated through the foyer, looking toward the stairs. Only Fenton and Darkwing could see details of the figure with their night vision as he descended, his wide-brimmed hat and shredded cape cutting a familiar picture. Launchpad and Charity could only make out a silhouette although they could swear that his eyes glowed.
"Jim!"
Through the Gizmoduck visor, Darkwing saw Starling's eyes fall on Charity, his face cold and passive before he cracked a wide grin. "This is going to be fun."
"Starling, give up now or I'll…I'll…" Threats died on Darkwing's tongue. He had nothing.
"Or you'll what?" the shadowy figure scoffed. "Break that darling girl's nose? Smash her bones? Cut her open and rend her flesh?"
In the few months that he had donned the mask, Darkwing had dealt with thieves, gangsters, drug dealers, and even a few murderers. It was haunting to see what lengths people would go through to escape prison, to get away with it. But there was always a point where they accepted punishment over an alternative.
And Starling wasn't one of these people. He had no limits. Darkwing could see it in his eyes. He had the upper hand.
"Well, aren't you coming for me?" Starling asked, opening his arms. "Then I guess I'll go to you."
"Get ready," Fenton said, his voice taking on a different tone. He sounded like Gizmoduck. The weapon encompassing his arm hummed.
Launchpad started whirling the weighted rope around his head, and Charity raised the tire iron like it was a bat.
Then the air was pierced by a sound that cut away their resolve like a hot knife through butter as Starling pulled at something, an engine chugging as it struggled to life. He pulled again, and the engine sputtered before roaring to life, the machine vibrating as if it were a living thing. It was a sound they associated with cheesy horror movies, suspense music and screaming.
Charity dropped her tire iron.
As if they were of one mind, the ducks and lovebird broke into a run, fleeing the room.
"Chainsaw! Chainsaw!" Launchpad screamed.
"Yes, we know," Darkwing screamed back.
Fenton was shouting something in Spanish. He was either swearing or praying. Or both.
"What the crap were we thinking?" Charity shouted as they sprinted out of the foyer and through the McDuck mansion. "Smoke bombs and pies against a chainsaw?"
"Chainsaw!" Launchpad waved his arms over his head.
"You could have stayed with the car," Darkwing yelled at Charity.
"Chainsaw!"
"Quiet," Darkwing ordered, taking charge of the situation even though he was still panicking on the inside. "We're making enough noise that he could follow us even over the roar of that thing."
"Chainsaw!" Launchpad reminded the group.
"What do we do?" Fenton asked, good to let the masked duck lead. Why did he think he could do the whole hero-thing without Gizmoduck? Oh, yeah, he was able to take on super-powered Mark Beaks, but at least he hadn't had a chainsaw.
"What we do is find a place to hide, preferably someplace we can defend easily," Darkwing decided although he wasn't certain. It had been easy to make decisions when he was a team of one, but now that other lives were at stake, he was second guessing himself. "We need time to think this through."
He picked a door at random and opened it. He felt something whoosh toward him, and something hard and heavy slammed into his head, knocking him back against the hall wall.
"Darkwing!" Charity was at his side, her hands cupping his face. "Darkwing. Please be okay?"
He wasn't in pain, but the hit had rattled his brain. It took him a while to recover his senses.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, the night vision visor highlighting her face.
"No." Charity blinked. "Why am I not hurt?" She looked behind her, gazing at a medieval mace that swung from the ceiling.
"Gizmoduck's helmet," Darkwing said, shaking off the hit. "Lucky for both of us."
"Booby trapped," Fenton said, looking at the mace. "It was released when you opened the door. Primitive but deadly."
"And there's probably a lot more of them," Darkwing said. "Which means my plan is useless. Anywhere we go, we could be running into a trap."
"Chainsaw!" Launchpad shouted, trembling.
"Not helping!" Darkwing yelled, feeling the pressure of keeping the group safe. But that's when he realized he could hear the sound of the chainsaw getting closer. "Move but quieter this time."
"Where? You said there could be booby traps everywhere," Charity said.
Darkwing sifted through his mind, looking for something to help them. He caught on a tiny ray of hope. "Fenton, you said that one of the Duck family was upstairs. On the second floor?"
"Uh, yeah, I did." Fenton tilted his head upward. "I can't see him very well, but I think I can find him."
"Launchpad, is there another way to the second floor?" Darkwing asked, shaking his friend.
"Chainsaw," Launchpad replied then pointed down the hallway.
"I hope that's a 'yes'," Darkwing said, pushing the large duck forward. "Show us the way."
They followed Launchpad through the mansion, entering the dining room where they had breakfasted. Had that really been that morning? It seemed like years ago.
The dining room had a second door, which led to a smaller hallway and then a set of stairs that went up and down. Darkwing guessed that in the old days, this had been the servant's entrance, the downstairs leading to the kitchen, upstairs going to the servants' quarters in the attic.
"Chains—"
Darkwing covered Launchpad's mouth before he could finish yelling the word.
"What is with him and that word?" Fenton asked, taking the rear as they went up the winding stairs to the second floor. "Does he have some unusual phobia?"
"Uh…I think I know why," Charity said, chuckling nervously. "I think it was seventh grade, but he and I stayed up all Halloween night watching horror movies. He became afraid of chainsaws, and I can't stand clowns now."
They opened the door to the second floor, the path beyond dark. Charity and Launchpad could see a little, but they relied on Fenton and Darkwing to lead the way.
Fenton whispered, blinking rapidly, "It appears that whoever it is, is behind a lot of metal." He turned a corner and turned to a door. Just as he grabbed the knob, Darkwing pulled him back.
"Look for traps," Darkwing told Fenton.
Together, they felt around the door frame. Not finding anything, they stood to the side as Darkwing kicked open the door. There was the sound like a spring being released and a volley of knives flew out, embedding on the opposite wall.
"Everyone alright?" Darkwing asked.
Charity gave him a thumbs up. "Nobody got hurt."
"Inside!"
Darkwing waited until the others were in before backing after them, closing the door behind him and locking it. He didn't like being cornered in this room, but he couldn't chance Starling coming from behind. Plus, in a pinch, they could go out the window.
Fenton was breathing hard, hand against his chest as if that was the only thing preventing his heart from jumping out of his chest. "What was that?"
"A trap," Darkwing said obviously, following the string from the door that led to what was left of the crude device.
"I know, but how? You said this guy was an actor?" Fenton said, his voice strained. "These traps, the mechanisms made from household items, nobody could come up with this kind of stuff on the fly."
"Jim is more than just an actor," Charity chimed in, her inner nerd coming out. "Not only did he play Darkwing Duck, but he also wrote a book series based on the TV show. To make the books as authentic as possible, he interviewed and even trained with tons of experts from martial arts teachers to people in Special Forces."
"Yeah, that's right. He even got permission to talk to spies and learn some of the tricks of their trade," Darkwing added. "Like in A Shadow on Dark Wings. He had to take apart a toaster oven and use parts to make a timer to set off one of his gas gun canisters."
"Oh, I love that one. That was a genius plot twist," Charity added. "I own the complete set."
"I do, too. Autographed."
"I'm so jealous."
"Chainsaw!"
"Stop complimenting the mad man who wants to kill us," Fenton shouted at them, stopping the geek-fest.
"Oh, right," Darkwing said, clearing his throat. "You said one of the captives is in this room."
"Yes. But I don't understand. There's nobody here." He gazed around. "Hmmm, the dimensions don't add up." He stared at a bookshelf, rubbing his chin. "There must be something behind this wall. I just have to find the switch." He ran his fingers over the leather bound volumes, occasionally shaking his head as if that would fix his lenses.
After a few seconds of jerking his head around and finally slapping the side of his face, he grinned. "Crime and Punishment." He pulled on the book and the access slid open, revealing a metal door. "A panic room. McDuck thinks of everything."
"Can you open it?" Darkwing asked. His night vision was doing well, and besides only seeing in shades of green, he hadn't noticed the difference of wearing Gizmoduck's helmet. But then a wall of numbers appeared in front of his eyes, changing by the microsecond randomly. Or at least he thought. "What the—"
"The helmet's tech is more advanced than my lenses," Fenton said, knowing what Darkwing was seeing. "You'll have the passcode in a few seconds."
Soon, the rest of the numbers fell away, leaving behind a fifteen digit number. Darkwing typed it in. The door opened with a release of locks and a hiss of pressure. Light poured out.
A small body ran out, grabbing Fenton's shirt and shouting, "You have to go save them! They're in the basement! He's going after them."
"Chainsaw?" Launchpad asked, his tone no longer panicking.
Louie gave him an odd look but turned back to Fenton. "That guy, Negaduck, he's after everyone else. They're trapped down there."
"Negaduck?" Fenton repeated.
"It's what he's calling himself," Louie said. "He's crazy."
"How do you know where the others are?" Darkwing asked.
Louie pointed into the panic room. "There are cameras all over the mansion. I found some equipment that lets me see what it going on. I saw him chase you, but he stopped after a while and went down into the basement."
Fenton and Darkwing rushed into the panic room, looking at the single computer screen showing a crowded jail cell with Scrooge, Mrs. Beakley, an unconscious Della, and the other three kids. The wide-brimmed hat of Starling moved in one corner of the camera.
"Chainsaw. Chainsaw chainsaw chainsaw, chainsaw. Chainsaw?" Launchpad said as if forming a complete set of sentences.
"What's wrong with him?" Louie asked, sticking his thumb up at Launchpad.
"Childhood trauma," Charity replied, coming up from behind to look at the screen.
Suddenly, smoke filled the basement room, sending Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley into a coughing fit. They sagged to the floor. Starling must have used a gas gun on them.
He's going to take a hostage, Charity guessed, because if she was writing a story like this, that would be what she would have the villain do. He wanted Darkwing Duck, and he would take advantage of the crime-fighter's better nature. Give yourself up or the innocent gets it. And she could see Darkwing going along with it, selflessly sacrificing himself for another just as he was prepared to do from the beginning.
I can't let that happen, she thought. Darkwing may think that all this was his fault for his part in Jim Starling's psychotic break, but Charity was just as responsible. It was her family's curse that made him almost indestructible. It was her fault that they had to find alternative ways of fighting Starling. And when it came down to it, she didn't want Jim to be hurt. She loved him.
Everyone's backs were to her, entranced as they watched Starling remove some wires from the prison bars, then opened the door. It was chilling to see him point to all his hostages as if playing "Eeney, meanie, miney, moe," like a child before settling on the young girl.
"He's got Webby," Louie cried out. "You have to go save her."
"We will. But we're also getting you out. Fenton, you and I will head to the basement. Launchpad and Charity take Louie to the front door," Darkwing ordered, lifting his head to gaze around at the group. Someone was missing. His eyes caught movement that the door to the panic room was closing.
"No! Charity!" he shouting, sprinting forward. He made a quick decision, rather than pushing against the door, he slipped through, managing to get through the crack before the metal door slammed shut on the corner of his cape. The clothing accessory snapped him back, and he landed on his rump.
"Charity, you can't go after him by yourself," he said, fiddling with the buttons on his suit to release his cape.
"You were going to do it," Charity told him. "It makes more sense for me to go to him. He won't hurt me. Back in St. Canard, I talked to him. I may be able to reason with him."
"There's no reasoning with a man like that," Darkwing said, grabbing her arm. "He may not kill you, but there's no telling what he may do to you."
"He didn't hurt me back in the sewers. I know that he won't hurt me now."
"Just like he didn't hurt you before," Darkwing shouted. "Just because you're in love with him, doesn't mean he cares anything for you."
Charity reeled back as if he had slapped her.
From the Gizmoduck visor, Darkwing saw tears forming in her eyes. Had she really hoped that would be the case? Even after seeing what Starling was capable of?
After a moment, Charity pulled roughly away from Darkwing, her face hardening. "You say you're responsible for Jim's actions, then so am I. He thinks he has super powers and that also contributed to his psychotic break."
"You couldn—"
"Any argument against me can also be used against you," Charity insisted. "We're both in the same boat. You can't stop me, and I can't stop you. So, do we agree we go together? Nobody else gets hurt. We do what we need to do to stop him."
Darkwing turned his head, contemplating.
"Drake… please," Charity whispered. "I'm cursed, not fragile. There have been too many people in my life that have made that mistake. Don't be one of them."
"Okay, but you follow my lead," Darkwing relented. "He doesn't know that we know he has a hostage. We go slow and look for traps, then we'll sneak up on him and get the girl away. But once we do, you escape with her, and I'll handle Starling. Agreed?"
Charity nodded. "Let's go before Fenton figures out how to open that door."
Together, they left the room, heading to the main staircase that led to the foyer.
"Do you know the way to the basement?" Darkwing asked Charity.
The lovebird shook her head. "But he may come this way with the girl. We could ambush him here," she suggested.
"Good idea." Darkwing looked around. "There's not much to hide behind. What's through that door?"
Charity's eyesight went to a door just to the side of the staircase. She opened it, finding an assortment of coats, hats, and boots neatly organized.
"Perfect," Darkwing said, coming closer. "We can hide in here until Starling comes this way. Do you still have those flashbangs?"
"Yeah," Charity said, feeling her nerves tingling at the anticipation of what was to come.
"Use all of them when we jump out. Don't forget to close your eyes when you do. If you get the chance, grab the girl and run."
Charity nodded, taking a step into the closet. Before she could react, Darkwing pushed her from behind, slamming the door shut.
"Darkwing! Darkwing, let me out."
"Sorry, Charity. Turnabout is fair play," Darkwing said. He had retrieved the tire iron from where Charity dropped it earlier and jammed it underneath the door, preventing it from opening.
To Darkwing's ears, it sounded as if Charity was throwing herself at the door.
"You said we would do this together!" she shouted, pounding against the sturdy wood.
Darkwing pressed his forehead against the door. "I'm sorry." He backed away from the coat closet, circling the foyer. "Starling!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "You won!" His voice echoed against the dark walls of the foyer, sounding throughout the manor. At least, he hoped that his shouts projected that far.
In less than a minute, the squeak of a door came from his right. Shifting to that direction, Darkwing watched through the Gizmoduck visor as Starling walked in with deliberate slowness, one hand still clenching the handle of the chainsaw—now silent—the other grasping the back collar of the little girl, her head hanging, unconscious.
"Already?" Starling asked, raising an eyebrow. "I was hoping for a little more fun. I didn't even get to use her as a bargaining chip." He lifted Webby higher, dangling from his hand like an puppet.
"No bargaining chips. No hostages. Just you and me," Darkwing said. He raised his hands up into the air. "I'll surrender as long as you leave right now."
"No! Darkwing! Jim, please don't!" Charity shouted from within the closet.
Starling glanced her way, but when it didn't open, he ignored Charity's pleas. "Leave? But this place has really grown on me," Starling said with a grin. "So many fun toys." He jiggled the chainsaw.
"If you don't leave, then no deal," Darkwing said. "There's a car out front. Let go of the girl, and I'll go peacefully with you outside. You can drive me anywhere you like and do what you want with me."
"Really?" Starling looked skeptical. "Oh, but of course. You're just like me. No pain, right? So you won't feel a thing." He looked disappointed.
Darkwing narrowed his eyes, tensing. If torture had been Starling's motivating factor, things may get ugly.
"Hmmm, I guess I'll just have to kill you quickly," Starling decided with a crooked smile. He dropped Webby none-too-gently, reached into his coat, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He threw them at Darkwing's feet. "Here. Put those on."
"No!" Charity was screaming now, pounding on the door.
Slowly, Darkwing bent down and picked up the handcuffs. He slapped one on his left wrist and was about to do the same with the other when Starling stopped him.
"No, not that way. Behind your back. And make sure they're tight."
Clumsily, Darkwing shifted his arms behind him, clasping the other half of the handcuffs on. "Okay, they're on. Let's go. Now."
Starling approached, leaving the girl behind but still keeping the chainsaw with him. "You know, on second thought, I think I'll just kill you now and keep my playhouse." He dropped the chainsaw, flicking his wrist. Suddenly a knife was in his hand and aimed at Darkwing's heart.
All in self-preservation, Darkwing dropped to his back, kicking at Starling before the madman could fall upon him. He tried to get up, but was slow without the use of his arms. Starling came from behind, knocking him onto his stomach and pressed a knee into his back.
"So long, imposter. You'll haunt me no more," Starling said with glee.
Darkwing closed his eyes, hoping that Charity wouldn't be in too much pain before he died.
"If you kill him, you'll be killing me, too!"
As the words cut through the air, Starling froze, his knife poised high above his head. "What? You think that's a threat?" Starling shouted at the coat closet, but his tone sounded uncertain.
"If I'm dead, the curse is broken," Charity yelled through the door. "No more super powers."
"I don't need super powers anymore. I have this charlatan at my mercy. And when he is gone, I'll be Darkwing Duck once more," Starling returned, his voice heavy with madness.
"So you won't mind your knees creaking in the mornings. Or the back aches in the evening. You're not young anymore, Jim. I know because I've been living with all your pains," Charity said. "You haven't felt any pain in fifteen years. Are you prepared to start after all this time?"
It was such a mild threat, but it was enough to give Starling a moment of consideration. "You were trying to break the curse anyway. Nice try, girly," Starling said, yanking off Gizmoduck's helmet from Darkwing's head, deciding he'd aim for the back of the neck. Sure, the vertebrae may get in the way of a clean cut, but there would be so much lovely blood.
"What if I could give you something else? What if I could return Darkwing's pain to him?"
It was an offer that Starling wasn't sure if he believed, but it made his mouth water. "It's called a curse. You can't do that," he said, calling her bluff.
"I can because he forced me to bond with him. He wanted to be part of the curse, and I didn't have a choice."
"No, you're lying," Starling argued. "You're with him. You're helping him."
"Because I don't want him to get hurt. His pain is mine," Charity reasoned.
Darkwing shifted underneath Starling, trying to wiggle free, but the grip was steel-like. What was Charity up to?
"Don't toy with me," Starling yelled.
"I'm not. I was tricked by him, just like you," Charity said, her voice turning to more of a plea. "I thought he was the real Darkwing Duck. It wasn't until later that I found out he was an imposter."
Starling tensed, pressing his knee harder into Darkwing's back. There was no pain, but it made it harder to breath.
"You can save me," Charity said. "I couldn't break the bond by myself, but now that you're here, we can do it together. And then you can do as you wish to him without hurting me."
"Save you? I am not here to save anyone."
"But if you save me, that means I can be with you forever. I call this spell a curse because of that imposter. But once our bond is broken, I'll be free to take your pain away forever."
The love in Charity's voice sickened Darkwing. He had a good guess what Charity was planning on doing, but it wouldn't work. She wanted him to release her from the coat closet, but what then? What could she do against Starling?
"Why? Why would you want to feel my pain for me? Why go through such agony?" By his voice, he obviously didn't understand or trust altruistic motives.
"I thought you knew," Charity said, her voice husky. "It's because I love you, Jim. I've always been in love with you."
Darkwing grunted as he was unexpectedly yanked to his feet and frog-marched across the foyer. With a lurch, Starling picked him up enough to hang him against one of the suits of armor that stood against a wall. With his arms behind his back, the position should have been incredibly painful on his joints, but all he felt was the strain in his shoulders.
He clenched his teeth, only able to imagine what kind of agony Charity would be in. However, without the pain, he could concentrate on escaping. Starling forgot Darkwing Duck 101: always keep a lock pick handy.
When Jim opened the closet door, Charity was kneeling on the floor, her posture indicating her anguish. But she quickly hid it, smiling with relief. "Jim."
Starling seized Charity by her shoulders and dragged her to her feet, then pushed her against the wall. "I don't know if I trust you."
"Look at me, Jim. Look at what he's put me through," Charity pleaded, raising her arms, showing all her bandages. "Look what he made you do to me. It's all true."
"Love?" He sneered at the word. "Nice try, sweetheart. You almost had me."
Charity reached out to him, her hands trying to cup his face. The emotional hurt on her face wasn't feigned. "Jim? But I do lo—"
"Don't call me that," Starling growled, shaking her. "I'm not Jim Starling. Not anymore. And I'm not some buffoon called Darkwing Duck. That name sickens me. I'm Negaduck."
"No, Jim. Please, this isn't you," Charity pleaded, her face twisted in sorrow. "Don't do this."
"Didn't you listen to me? It looks as if you need to be taught a lesson." He took his knife out from his belt, bringing it up to Charity's face. "I'll stop when the lesson sticks."
"Leave her alone, Starling," Darkwing shouted, struggling against his bonds. He had gotten the key from his sleeve, but the lock wasn't cooperating. "It's me you want."
"Well, well. It looks as if I've found a way to hurt Darkwing Duck after all," Starling said, cracking a smile. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you have a good view."
That was when Charity struggled with intent, ignoring her singing nerves as Starling pressed against raw flesh underneath her bandages. She pushed and pulled, trying to break free. She hated this. She hated her curse. She hated that even if she hadn't loved Starling, fighting him would be as useful as a tennis racket to a slug.
"Fight him, Charity. Fight him like you did before," Darkwing called, urging her on.
But how? The only thing that would be effective was to choke him or knock him out. And she couldn't do either with him holding her wrists. She tried to knock him down, hoping that would loosen his grip, but he took her down with him, gaining a better advantage by straddling her between his thighs.
"Give it up, sweetie. The more you struggle, the longer I'll take with you," Starling threatened with pleasure. "You're helpless. You can't hurt me."
And then a lesson from a long ago day, taught to her by her grandmother, burst through her other memories, shocking her like a bolt of electricity.
"You're wrong on both accounts," Charity snarled. She wretched her knee upward as hard as she could right between Starling's legs.
Starling saw stars before his nerves registered that he was in pain. For the first time in fifteen years, he experienced pain, and this agony was worse because his body was unfamiliar with the sensation. His hands moved slowly to the offended area before he keeled over to the side.
Breathing heavily, Charity scrambled away from Starling's body, eyes wide.
"Get on top of him," Darkwing ordered Charity from where he dangled from the armor. "That won't keep him down long. Restrain him. Throw that knife out of reach."
Awakened from her shock, she did as she was told, sitting on top of Starling and tossing all weapons she found as far as she could. She was surprised when Darkwing came up from behind and clamped handcuffs over Starling's hands.
"I didn't know you could…" Darkwing trailed off, looking disturbed.
"Neither did I," Charity said. "Lucky for us, I don't have the balls."
That earned her a deep, guttural laugh from the masked hero.
And while Charity wanted to laugh too, she had a bone to pick with this man. "And if it wasn't for this curse, I would punch you," she yelled at him. "How dare you go off like a sheep for the slaughter! Don't you know you can't bargain with a madman?"
"What about you!" Darkwing shouted back. "All those lies and trying to get on his good side. You didn't think that could backfire?"
"You locked me in a closet!"
"You tried to lock me in a vault!"
"Quit coddling me!"
"Then stop making me want to protect you!"
Charity was about to shout something back, but Darkwing's words stoppered her anger like a cork in a bottle. She was suddenly aware of how close they were. Her thoughts ran to places and ideas that she had never hoped to happen. Was he coming closer? What was going to happen? Was he really going to…
"You two better not be kissing," a muffled growl came from the floor. "Oh, please don't be kissing. Just…just kick me in the nuts again."
"Shut up," Darkwing snapped, pushing Starling's face to the floor.
With the moment gone, Charity scrambled off of the would-be actor, feeling as shy as a deer. Had it all been her imagination? She loved Darkwing, and she knew her own feelings and desires. But could Darkwing reciprocate those feelings? Or had it just been the moment? If it had been any girl in the same situation, it would result in the same thing, right?
"You're right," Darkwing said, still on the ground, keeping Starling restrained. "You're not fragile."
Charity's heart leaped again so soon after that other moment. Why won't these boys give her heart a rest?
"I'll try not to treat you like you are," Darkwing said. His eyes turned to her, and there was an intensity in them that was akin to an alpha wolf.
"Damn straight you won't," Charity said with a wry smile.
Mrs. Beakley glared at the state of the manor. Paint on the windows, knife holes in the wall paper, and booby traps willy-nilly. Never had she allowed so much chaos to reign in her territory. If she wasn't so angry, she might have some respect for Jim Starling.
With the lights back on and everyone huddled in the rec room with sustenance, blankets and the TV to comfort them after such a kerfuffle, Mrs. Beakley insisted nobody move as she searched the whole mansion top to bottom. Even Della, who refused to be taken to the emergency room for her concussion, hadn't complained too much about being ushered away like a chick.
"And where is that so-called butler," Mrs. Beakley muttered under her breath as she disengaged yet another contraption that would have skewered the first person to walk down the hallway. "This would have been a whole lot easier to deal with if Ducksworth was doing his job." But the ghost of Scrooge's servant had been absent during Starling's reign of terror, which wasn't the first time he had been off duty during a state of emergency for the Duck family.
As she lugged an armful of tangled string, duct tape and wire to the kitchen, she watched as Donald walked in through the back door in a bathrobe, go to the refrigerator, take out a carton of milk and drink directly from it as calmly as could be.
"What in the world?" she asked.
Donald jumped, having not seen her. "Whoops. Heh heh. I'll get a glass."
"Where have you been all this time?" Mrs. Beakley asked, her jaw slack.
"I've been in a bubble bath. I must have fallen asleep," Donald said, looking completely relaxed. "Why? What did I miss?"
Mrs. Beakley shook her head. She would leave the explanation to someone else.
As she stepped out of the kitchen, she almost ran into Scrooge, who was the only one who insisted on helping his housekeeper take care of things, namely the incarceration of Starling.
"Ach, that knockout gas packs quite a punch," Scrooge said, massaging his head.
Mrs. Beakley sympathized. This was the second time it had been used on her. "I've finished the ground floor. I've also called a cleaning service to come in tomorrow and clear away the paint and repair whatever damage that maniac left behind."
"Good, 22," Scrooge said. "As for that maniac, he's manacled to the wall, ball and chain on both feet, and there's at least five supernatural entities patrolling the hallway."
"Or we could take him to a hospital to give him the care he needs," Mrs. Beakley told him. "The criminally insane still deserve to be treated like people."
"And he will. Once Charity is rid of him and this curse." He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. "The lass has brought more trouble with her than a whole dungeon of treasure."
Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow.
"But not too much trouble," Scrooge added with a smile. "Not since Donald dropped off the boys."
"So, shall we see what kind of damage was done to the second floor?" Mrs. Beakley offered.
"No. Let's take a break. We can finally find out what Huey and Webby found out in their research."
They headed back to the rec room only to come across a sight that frustrated the elderly duck.
"Oh, for the sake of the moor. How hard is it to get everyone together for one little meeting?" he grumbled, waving his hand at one of the couches.
Leaning back along the sofa, Launchpad snored louder than the ending of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. His arms spread eagle over the three others as if protecting them. Charity leaned against him, her mouth hanging open and snoring with much less volume. Darkwing was next to the lovebird, using an arm as a pillow, his cape wrapped around him loosely. On the other side of Launchpad, Fenton had completely gone horizontal, head on Launchpad's knee, his legs curled up in a fetal position.
Slices of pizza, which Mrs. Beakley had ordered earlier, lay half-eaten on plates in their laps. More than likely, the four had fallen asleep before they could finish their meal.
"Now we're going to have to wait until tomorrow to learn anything," Scrooge said, folding his arms.
"Webby and Huey could explain things now, and we'll tell the others tomorrow," Mrs. Beakley suggested.
"No, we're doing this together," Scrooge said, disgusted by the situation. "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning."
"Is it safe yet?" Webby asked, rushing to her grandmother.
"Just the ground floor."
"Can I get some extra blankets for them?" she asked, always so helpful and considerate of others.
"Yes, you know where they are."
Louie shook his head at the sleeping adults. "They're like a pack of kids. They didn't even make it to bedtime before conking out."
"They've had a rough day," Mrs. Beakley said, her motherly instincts kicking in as she gently adjusted the four. She put Fenton's legs up on the arm of the couch, and placed Launchpad's feet on a foot rest to stop his snoring. She tilted Charity and Darkwing so that they could be more comfortable. She couldn't do much as long as they resembled a pile of sleeping kittens.
"It's good they are sleeping now. Heaven help them, things may not get any easier."
(Author's notes: It's still Tuesday somewhere, right? Although this is my second favorite chapter, that scene where Darkwing and Charity fight Negaduck is my favorite. Thank you everyone for reading. See you next week.)