(Author's Note: Sorry, I'm a day late. I want to post every Thursday, but I was sick yesterday.)
Blue Waltz
Chapter 5: Improvised Dance Steps
Sept. 11 (Cont.)
Charity checked her speed and found that she was going way too fast. She had tried to remain impassive as she took Gosayln from her father, but the emotions that ran high hit her hard.
She wanted to string Duncan by his tail for making her do this, but she couldn't see how she could have played things differently. Duncan had been prepared—no, overly prepared—when he told her to take Gosalyn into DCF custody. He had been cool and calm during their conversation, waited to show his hand at the end by threatening to fire her, and even had a pair of cops ready to help her, two officers that were no doubt in his pocket.
What was his game? What benefit would he get by taking a little girl from her father and putting her in foster care? That didn't make sense. What about Drake Mallard? Did he have something that Duncan wanted? Drake did work for SHUSH. Did that have anything to do with it?
Or what if this was a power play to either get Charity under his thumb or force her to quit? She had always been under the impression that Duncan needed her. He was lazy and not at all interested in doing work. She made his job easier except when he wanted to twist people to his advantage.
What if he no longer saw her as an asset but a liability? Did he have someone in mind to replace her, someone that would run DCF his way? Forcing her to quit rather than fire her would be a whole lot less messy.
Charity released a heavy breath. If this poor family just so happened to fall in the crossfire because of Duncan's thirst for power, what could she do?
"What's going to happen to me?"
Charity glanced in her rear view mirror at Gosalyn who huddled in her seat belt with red eyes. She sniffled a little.
Banishing her anger for her boss, Charity said softly, "I'm going to take you to my office at DCF. There, I'm going to find a nice family to take you on a temporary basis."
"You mean a foster home."
Charity recalled that Gosalyn had stayed in an orphanage not that long ago. She might have heard stories about foster homes, perhaps even the darker ones that had unfortunately happened.
"Yes," Charity confirmed. "I know an elderly couple that might be able to take you. They're very nice and good with children." Hopefully they'll be up to taking Gosalyn.
"What about my dad? When can I see him again?" Gosalyn asked hopefully.
"Well, in a couple of days, your case will be seen in front of a judge," Charity explained, keeping things simple but not talking down to the child. Gosalyn was sharp and would understand. "At that time, the judge will hear all sides, including your father's."
"And then I'll be able to go home?" Gosalyn asked.
Charity couldn't lie and bring false hope to the conversation. "Most likely not. It will take more than one day for the judge to review the case," Charity explained. "The prosecutor—that is, the lawyer who will be arguing for the law—will present evidence against your father. Then your father's lawyer—the defense—will be allowed to present their own evidence."
"Could I talk to the judge?" Gosalyn asked, her voice stronger.
"If someone calls you as a witness, yes, you will be able to talk to the judge," Charity said, actually feeling hope herself. Gosalyn would make a good witness for her father's case. "After all the evidence is presented, the judge will announce a verdict. If your father is innocent of all charges, you'll be allowed to go home."
"And if the judge says he's guilty?"
Charity felt a hard pit in her stomach. "Well, there are a lot of possibilities. You may still be allowed to go home providing that your father pays a fine and follows through with DCF's requests."
"Kind of like what you suggested?" Gosalyn asked.
"Yes," Charity said, steeling herself to giving the duckling the worst-case scenario. "However, there is a chance that the judge will keep you in the foster system for a while."
"How long?"
"It differs, depending on how severe a…sentence your father gets," Charity said, hating that she had to explain this to the poor girl.
"Could he be sent to jail?" Gosalyn asked, her voice tight.
When Charity glanced in the rear-view mirror, she saw the duckling glaring at her. She wanted to tell Gosalyn "No," because people didn't get sent to jail because of a minor infraction and little evidence, but she wouldn't put it past Duncan to use his power to get what he wanted. And if it meant he wanted Drake Mallard in jail…
"I don't know," Charity said. She wondered if she could persuade Drake or his lawyer to call her as a witness. Normally social workers would be asked their recommendation on what is best for the child, and Charity was more than willing to tell the judge her opinion on the matter.
With so many things going through Charity's mind, she almost missed her turn into the parking garage. She found a spot near the elevator and turned off her car.
"Come along, Gosalyn. You can leave your things in the car. I'll be driving you to your foster family." Charity held the door open, but the little girl didn't move
"You said you wanted to help us. You're a liar. I hate you," Gosalyn spat and crossed her arms.
Charity had been screamed at, spit on, scratched, bitten, kicked, and punched by children. Even if their parents abuse them, some children are so scared of change and the unknown that they fight those that were trying to help them.
Gosalyn's condemnation wasn't anything new.
"I'm sorry, but you do need to come with me," Charity said. She wasn't going to react to Gosalyn's hate—which she didn't blame—and hoped that by keeping things business-like, it would go better for them both.
Gosalyn hopped out and gave Charity a glare filled with loathing.
As they walked to the elevator, Charity noticed the police car idling nearby, the same two officers that accompanied her to Mr. Mallard's house inside. They had been watching her, but as her gaze fell on them, they looked away.
She set her beak firm, took Gosalyn's arm, and marched to the squad car. She tapped on the window and waited for it to roll down.
"You can tell your boss upstairs that I've done his dirty work," Charity snapped. "There's no need to shadow me."
The cop in the driver's seat—a buzzard—exchanged an oily smile with his partner who was a shaggy, gray hound. "I don't know what you're talking about, cupcake. We just wanted to see that you safely got where you're going." His eyes slid down her form as greasy as his smile.
Charity gritted her teeth, biting down a snarky comment. It wouldn't do to insult Duncan's cops. However, her sharp eyes went to their chests, reading their nametags. "Thank you, Officer Carrion and Officer Bell. I'll make sure to remember you next time. You're from the 27th precinct, right? Your captain would be O'Toole, right? He and I go way back."
She insinuated more than what was true. Charity was acquainted with most of the Captains, but only on last name basis. She was good with names and faces, and if she ran into O'Toole, she would recognize him, but the Captain probably wouldn't remember her. But seeing sour faces on the pair was priceless. She just hoped that things wouldn't go south for her.
"Come on, Gosalyn," Charity said, turning the child toward the elevator. "Have you eaten?" She pressed the button to go up.
"What was that about?" Gosalyn asked, giving Charity a sideways glance. "It sounded like you don't like those cops."
"The police are our friends," Charity said with more cheer than she felt. "And I like everyone who obeys the law."
Gosalyn lapsed into contemplative silence, guessing that there was something hidden in the social workers words.
"About dinner. I'm hungry. How about you pick what we eat and I'll buy?" Charity suggested with a smile.
Despite what she said in the car, Gosalyn smiled, too.
Gosayn chose pizza with extra cheese and soda, although Charity insisted on vegetables on half. As they waited on the delivery boy to arrive, Charity introduced the girl to the other social workers, some were friendly, some looked ready to collapse. Charity sent the later home for the day since it was getting close to quitting time, and there wasn't much more they could do with the weekend upon them.
"Why are they so tired?" Gosalyn asked. They had reminded her of her dad when he was on a big case.
"There are a lot of children and families that need our help," Charity said with a sad smile, "and we just don't have enough people to put in the hours, and sometimes we work overtime. However, it's my job to make sure they take care of themselves and don't drop from exhaustion."
The tour ended right as the pizza boy came. As Charity paid for the pizza and drinks, Gosalyn wandered over to the large cork board where dozens of pictures of children were pinned. A large question hung at the top: "Have you seen these children?" Goslayn's eyes widened.
"Goslayn, come and eat," Charity called out.
"Who are all those kids?" Gosalyn asked, pointing at the board. Her brows knit together when she saw Charity get a little misty-eyed.
"They're children that have run away or have gone missing. All of them are children that this office has put into foster care, some of them have been missing for years," Charity said honestly.
"That many?" Gosalyn asked in a small voice. There were so many pictures that she wondered if she lifted a few up there would be more underneath, like an archeologist removing a dinosaur's bones from the earth only to find more in the next layer down.
Charity turned away from the board, pulling Gosalyn with her by the shoulders. "Let's eat before the pizza gets cold."
They set up their meal in the conference room. Charity invited a younger social worker to join them, and soon, Gosalyn and the other woman were playing a board game while eating. Taking a slice with her, Charity slipped out to go to her office. If she was going to find Gosalyn a place to stay for the night, she needed to begin calling. First, she would try that elderly couple she had in mind.
Just as she was dialing the number after looking it up in her system, a finger pushed down on the hanging-up button. Glaring at the expensive Italian suit that followed the finger, Charity tried to be decent as her life was interrupted by her boss for the second time that day. "You could have waited, Mr. Musman," Charity said tersely, slamming the phone back in the cradle and barely missing the errant finger.
"But that would ruin my dramatic entry," Duncan said humorously. "I see that you've saved the girl in time. Good job."
"My job isn't complete," Charity snapped. "And if you would let me do my job, I will find that poor girl a place to stay."
"All done," Duncan said, tossing a manila folder that he had hidden under his arm onto her desk.
Charity snatched it up, praying that the heartless man wasn't planning on sending Gosalyn to a group home. Usually only older girls or those who have had troubles with running away, drugs or violence went to such a place. If Gosalyn ended up there, she wouldn't last long. Gosalyn was tough, but not that tough.
At first, Charity was relieved that it was with a family, but as she read through the file, she found the forms empty save for an address and phone number. "Where's the background check? The application for being a foster parent? The inspection of the home? Proof of ID?" Charity demanded, closing the file.
"It's okay, Charity—"
"Ms. Loveatte," Charity interrupted.
Duncan held out his hands in a placating manner. "Ms. Loveatte," he corrected himself for once. "It's all taken care of. I've checked them out myself."
That made Charity even more suspicious. Her feathers ruffled as if someone had rubbed her the wrong way. "I'm not sending Gosalyn here, not without the proper paperwork."
"And I told you that everything has been taken care of," Duncan said in a firm voice.
"Then where's the paperwork?" Charity demanded. "If you want this to be done legally, all the paperwork needs to be turned in."
"First," Duncan said, and the look in his mousy eyes had turned dangerous, "as you can see on the paperwork you do have, I have signed off on the home myself. That is enough for this to go through legally. And second, if you're worried that things aren't completely legal, then I'm sure we could find a couple of officers to come up and inspect things."
Charity pursed her beak firmly. She wasn't certain if that was a threat or just a reminder of Duncan's power.
"If you're not willing to do the work, then perhaps it's time for you to step down," Duncan said. That time, the threat was evident. Either follow through with his orders or lose your job. That was the choice.
"That poor girl is scared and missing her father. I don't think putting her in an untested home is the right thing for her," Charity said, hoping to appeal to Duncan's better nature.
"A father who has been abusing her," Duncan said, smiling. He knew he had won.
Charity wanted to defend Drake Mallard, knowing that the man was probably in agony back at his house and his life wouldn't be the same, but she bit back her retort. If she protested too much, perhaps Duncan would fire her on principal. If Duncan had it out for Drake, she couldn't let on that she suspected so that she could be in a better position to help him in the future.
"Fine," Charity said, acting defeated but still kept the fire in her eye. She sat down.
"It's good that you have passion for your job," Duncan said, sounding supportive which was lost with his sleazy smile. "I'd hate to lose you just because we had a disagreement."
Charity opened her mouth to tell Duncan to go away, but the gray mouse must have decided it was his time to exit. He left, looking as smug as a cat that ate the canary.
For a moment, Charity sat at her desk, staring at her keyboard and screen, preparing herself mentally for following Duncan's orders. She had already taken Gosalyn away from her home; just one more step to finish his dirty work.
But things weren't over. She was still at DCF, and she wasn't Duncan's lackey. She just had to bide her time and wait for him to slip up.
With it being over an hour after quitting time, Charity thanked the other social worker for staying so late before turning to Gosalyn. "Shall we go?"
"To my new foster family?" Gosalyn asked.
"Yes."
"Are they nice?"
Charity paused. "I don't know. I haven't met them before."
"Not met them before?" Gosalyn demanded, her voice accusatory. "Don't you check these people out? Or do you take kids from their homes and give them to any random stranger?"
Charity took the mockery quietly. In fact, she wished that Gosalyn had been present when she talked to Duncan. The little duckling could have sent the grown mouse running.
"I haven't met your new family, but my boss has assured me that they have been properly 'checked-out,' and are adequate foster parents," Charity said diplomatically. "However, I will have the opportunity to meet them as I take you there."
"But what if they're mean?" Gosalyn asked, her face a mixture of anger and fear.
Charity feared this, too, but that just didn't make sense. Why would Duncan want to seize a child from one home and put them in a terrible one? As evil as Duncan was, he always had a selfish motive behind his actions, and Charity couldn't see what benefit he would get from hurting Gosalyn.
"Gosalyn, my job, above anything else, is to keep you safe," Charity said, talking as if Gosalyn were her equal. "If there is anything that I see that would make me believe they would make them unfit foster parents, I don't have to leave you there." And she was determined to scrutinize this family Duncan recommended down to the smallest detail. If even one infraction was broken, one little rule, then she would take Gosalyn away.
Once in the car and back on the road, Charity was glad that they had missed rush hour, but there were still a lot of cars on the street. The address that Duncan gave her was on the other side of the city in an older, but nice, neighborhood. All the homes looked to be from the 1940s, and few of these had been renovated or updated. The house they pulled up to had a dead lawn and a chain-linked fence around it. It looked to be a mixture of neglect and renovation, as if the owner had started making repairs but quit halfway through the job.
Charity opened the door for Gosalyn and carried her bags to the front door. After ringing the door bell, a female crow answered.
"Good evening. You must be Mrs. Smith," Charity greeted with a forced smiled. "My name is Charity Loveatte, and I'm from DCF."
"Oh, we've been expecting you," the crow said, speaking with an accent that Charity couldn't quite place. It sounded Southern but not quite. "Carl, she's here."
A bulldog that looked to be more bull than dog appeared, putting on a friendly smile with jowls dangling. "So, this is the girl," he said in a rumbling voice. He also had an accent which was much easier to place: New York or Brooklyn.
"Mr. Smith, this is Gosalyn Mallard," Charity introduced.
The bulldog grabbed Gosalyn's hand and shook it, which shook the whole girl. "Welcome. Our house is your house."
"Come in. Come in," Mrs. Smith said, gesturing inside.
Gosalyn did as told, looking small in comparison to the adults.
When Charity tried to follow, Mr. Smith barred her way. He was smiling, but his body language was telling her to back off.
"We'll take very good care of her. Don't you worry."
Charity adjusted her glasses that had fallen down her nose. "Excuse me, but I am Gosalyn's case worker, and it is my job to see that she is in a safe environment. Since you have agreed to be foster parents, I have the right to inspect your house before leaving Gosalyn in your care."
The bulldog looked as if he took Charity's words as a threat, but Mrs. Smith jumped between them. "Of course. Of course. My husband is just a little…grumpy from working all day. Come in." The crow smiled and showed every tooth.
"Thank you," Charity said and crossed the threshold.
The home was neat and clean but sparse. There was barely enough furniture to say someone lived there: a sofa, a coffee table and a lamp. There were no pictures or decorations. The walls and carpet were both white, which made the impression that there was more empty space than there actually was.
"Did you just move in?" Charity asked, although she didn't see any boxes.
"No," Mr. Smith grunted.
"Yes," Mrs. Smith said at the same time.
They exchanged worried expressions before the crow explained, "We moved into the house, but we've lived in the neighborhood for a while. We were renting before." She smiled even bigger.
While it was strange, Charity couldn't see any reason that the home was unsafe. She decided to give the usual interview questions when people wanted to become foster parents, but Mr. and Mrs. Smith gave correct answers hesitantly with a lot of stuttering. After a while, Charity asked, "May I see Gosalyn's room?"
All this time, Gosalyn had stayed at Charity's side, keeping a few inches behind the lovebird as if seeking shelter. She hadn't spoken to anyone, unusual for the girl.
"Uh…sure. Right this way," Mrs. Smith said with that uneasy smile. She went down the hall with Charity and Gosalyn behind her.
Charity took the time to poke her head in the other rooms. The kitchen and dining room were just as bare except for a card table with some folding chairs. Another room they passed by was completely empty except for some broken blinds, and the bathroom had no toiletries except a single roll of toilet paper. And there were still no sign of boxes.
Unfortunately, not having a lot of material goods didn't exempt a couple from being foster parents.
The room that Mrs. Smith dictated as Gosalyn's consisted of a small, metal-framed bed that looked as if it were bought from a rummage sale from a mental hospital from the sixties. The mattress was thin and the sheets and blankets even more so. A stuffed bunny sat on the flat pillow, and a few toys lay scattered on the floor that were more appropriate for a toddler than a ten-year-old girl.
Gosalyn tilted her chin up, giving Charity a skeptical frown.
If even a child could see that something weird was going on, could Charity really leave her behind? But what else could she do? As strange as the house and the couple were, she couldn't see anything really wrong except what she felt in her gut.
"As I said, we're still moving in," Mrs. Smith said apologetically. "We only had time to bring the necessities."
Charity sighed resignedly. She had stalled enough. She walked back to the living room where she faced Mr. and Mrs. Smith. "Since we have not previously met, I have a few more things to say, and then I'll get out of your hair."
At this, the crow and bulldog looked both relieved and anxious at the same time.
"I am the supervisor at DCF, and normally I don't take cases, so I will be more free to look in on Gosalyn when I feel the need," Charity said in a business-like tone. "As her caseworker, I can and will come by to check on her and her environment regularly. I also have experience with foster parents having difficulty with their first foster child, and if you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to contact me for anything. From the little time I have spent with Gosalyn, I have found that she is a lively and spirited child, but I hope that for the short time she is with you, she will receive the best of care."
Mr. and Mrs. Smith nodded but they didn't seem concerned by anything Charity said. In fact, they acted anxious for her to leave.
Kneeling down to Gosalyn's level, she held out her business card. "If you need anything or just need to talk, call me anytime." It was one of her special business cards where she wrote her home number on the back. Not that she thought the duckling would use it even if she were in trouble. After all that had happened, how could Charity expect for Gosalyn to trust her?
"You called me spirited," Gosalyn said with big eyes.
Charity tilted her head uncertain if Gosalyn was happy or angry for her choice of words. "Gosalyn, things will get better. I'll see you in a couple of days, okay?"
Gosalyn nodded, and Charity stood up.
Feeling hopeless and a few degrees shy of a monster, Charity left Gosalyn with the bulldog and crow with only a backpack and small bag of material things to live with.
Climbing into her car, Charity hadn't realized her eyes were burning until she tried to find her car keys in her purse with blurred vision. Crying, she found the keys by touch and fumbled with them. With shaking hands, she dropped the keys before she could jam them into the ignition. Sobbing, she snatched up the keys and inserted the right one into the slot just as tremors rippled through her lungs.
"Damn!" she shouted between sobs, hitting the steering wheel. Again and again, she screamed the word at the top of her lungs, attacking her car repeatedly until she was both out of breath and tears.
With it being mid-September, the days were getting shorter. The sun was hiding behind the larger building of St. Canard, but a corner peaked out to shine through Charity's windshield and reflect off the glass of the picture frame that Launchpad had wanted Gosalyn to keep. Next to it was the scruffy bear. With everything going on, Charity had forgotten to bring them inside the Smith's home and give them to Gosalyn.
After wiping her face and finding some tissues in her purse to clean up some mascara, she grabbed the mementos and left the car. Determined that Gosalyn should have these things and swallowing any awkwardness of returning to the doorstep, Charity knocked and waited.
Too much time passed, so Charity knocked again.
When she had knocked a third time and nobody answered, she became concerned. It hadn't been that long since she had been inside. She may have been crying and distracted by her emotions, but she couldn't have been in her car for more than ten minutes and she would have noticed if the Smith's went out with Gosalyn.
Stepping off the doorstep, Charity went to the nearest window, trying to look through the blinds. She could see that a light was on but there was no movement. She moved around the window, wondering if she should tap on the glass and call out to them. She knew they were home.
But then she heard something banging around in the house, and a crash as something broke. Peering through the blinds, she could tell bodies were moving around, dodging back and forth in front of the light source. Several voices yelled words she couldn't understand, and she recognize Gosalyn's voice, distressed.
Going back to the front door, Charity carefully tested the handle to see if she could open it. Locked. Knowing that most houses had more than one exit, she ran around to the back of the house, jumping over a waist-high chain-link fence to get there. She crouched as she passed a window that didn't have closed blinds and found the back door. Once again, she turned the knob, feeling triumphant when it opened easily.
Slowly opening the door to a point where the creaks were minute, Charity creeped in, the sounds of a struggle and voices yelling drowning out any noises she made.
"Get the rope. I can't hold her any longer," the voice of Mr. Smith shouted.
"Where did you put it?" Mrs. Smith said, her Southern accent gone, replaced with one similar to her husband's.
"Uh…I left it in the car," the bulldog said dumbly.
The backdoor led into the dining room, and Charity managed to hide behind a large garbage can filled with fast food containers and beer bottles just as the crow marched in. She bypassed the dining room and exited through another door that must have led to the attached garage.
"Let go of me!" Gosalyn shouted from the living room. "You're going to kill me with that dog breath of yours."
"Don't make me hurt you, girly," Mr. Smith growled. "The boss says we're to keep you safe, but I don't think he'll notice a few bruises."
When Charity snuck in, she wasn't sure what she was going to do, but once the bulldog threatened Gosalyn, any fear she had disappeared. Grabbing one of the folding chairs, she held it like a wrestler from one of those dumb shows she always saw .2 seconds of while channel surfing. Tip-toeing into the living room, she was glad the large man had his back to her. She raised the chair and aimed for his shoulders, slamming her weapon as hard as she could against the bulldog's back.
He didn't collapse completely, only dropped to one knee, letting go of Gosalyn at the same time.
"Gosalyn, run," Charity shouted, taking another swing at the man and bringing him to both knees.
Gosalyn hesitated for a moment as if there was something she could do against the massive opponent.
"GO!" Charity screamed, pointing to the front door.
Gosalyn ran, paused for a second to unlock the door before racing out into the street.
Charity readied the chair in case the bulldog decided to stand up again, which he did almost immediately. She wanted to run as well, but she had to give Gosalyn time to find some place safe or to get help. She only hoped that if the girl called the police, she would get someone that wasn't in Duncan's pocket.
As the bulldog was getting to his feet, Charity struck again, but she was too slow. Mr. Smith—if that was his real name—grabbed the chair in mid-slam and pulled it out of Charity's grip. Looking around, she grabbed the single lamp to use as another weapon. This, too, was removed from her hands before she could harm the bulldog.
That was a clear indication that Charity should run. Turning, she only made it one step before there was a painful yank on her backside. He had grabbed her tail feathers.
Luckily for Charity, her mother—who was raised in a male-dominated world and was taught that a girl should be meek and docile—learned that it didn't pay to be what everyone expected her to be. Despite the fact that the class contained only boys, Charity's mother had put her in karate, even argued with the Sensei until he relented to teach a girl.
Charity had fought her mother the entire time; she wanted to be a ballerina. But she had learned to kick and chop with the boys and was only allowed to quit when she had earned her black-belt.
And even though those lessons were over a decade ago, Charity remembered some of it. As the bulldog grabbed her blouse and pulled her closer, Charity recalled the hardest parts of the body were the heel, the knee, the elbow, the fist and the head. Striking with any of these parts would bring pain, especially when aiming for the softest parts: the groin, the stomach, the nose and the throat.
Using the momentum of the bulldog yanking her toward him, she turned and threw a punch at his throat. As he gasped, she pulled a knee up into his stomach, feeling a mixture of satisfaction at defending herself and sickness at hurting a person, even a bad guy. But despite these painful blows, the bulldog whipped his hand out and back-handed Charity's face, knocking her to the floor.
That was a lesson she had forgotten from her Sensei. She could hit a big guy several times, but unless he was unconscious or dead, he was still dangerous. Even with her skills, she would always be at a disadvantage against a man.
Holding onto her throbbing cheek, Charity stumbled to her feet with the intent to make it to the door. By now, Gosalyn must be far enough away. However, she barely made it to the threshold before someone grabbed her wrist and twirled her around. She caught a glimpse of the female crow and a device that snapped and sparked in her hand before pain shot through her whole body. Everything went black.
