-Chapter Six-
Shadows of His Past
The dream came again. The asylum, the white room, the voices calling out to him and finally he was in the cell. His cellmate was there grimly hidden in the shadows. Now that Drake had heard him talk he was even more disturbed by this person. It was strange, no matter where he stepped or moved he could not see his face, but something inside him made him feel like he saw it very often.
"She's out of your league you know." Announced the man angrily.
"Who? Morgana?"
"No the Easter bunny. Yes of course Morgana you knob! What would see want a nobody like you for? Don't fool yourself for a second that…"
"She's the one that came to me okay? And I'm not a nobody, which is more than I can say for you! All you are is a shadow in my dream, what would you know about it anyway!" Drake snapped. His tormentor laughed, and his blood quickly heated to a rolling boil.
"Well, well aren't we defensive. Talk like that makes me think that you love her. You do love her don't you 'Drake'? That's so touching it makes me ill. "The dark laugh erupted again and when he spoke there was a sneer in his voice. "'Here Lies Drake Mallard beloved husband and father'. Sorry but that's just not in your cards."
"Who are you?" Drake demanded, his rage burning like the fires of hell.
"Really now, that is the cold shoulder, after all we went through together. Ah well I suppose it's to be expected. But we can catch up another time. You go on living your little fairy tale, I'll come for you soon enough."
The asylum fell away and he was staring at the back of his eyelids. There was a heavy scent of incense and the bed beneath him was unfamiliar. A pair of hushed voices came from a distance; those were familiar and belonged to Viktor and Arnie. He couldn't make out what they were saying. It took a few more seconds for his memory to catch up with him. He braced himself and anticipated the outcry from his wounds and sat up. There was no pain. He inspected himself and found all the cuts, gashes, bruises, and scrapes missing. In fact, there was no trace that they had even been there at all, apart from the ominous hole the knife had made in his shirt. He looked around the dark room, he was in Morgana's compartment again but this time he was alone. Silently he removed himself from the bed and listened to the quiet voices. He moved through the sleepy curtain of scented smoke and toward the curtain that separated him from the two whispering men. Their silhouettes were clear through the dark red curtain and he hung back hoping to catch some of their conversation.
"I never did trust that guy," grumbled the beefy voice of Arnie. "…always lurking, he was. Never really here or there just kind of lingering."
"You remember the way he'd carry on when we had a slow day?" Viktor piped in. "He would rant to himself for hours, real quiet… and a few times I heard him talking to himself… like he was two people. Goin' on about people not appreciating real fun anymore, just electronic distractions. I mean I knew he was a nutcase but killing all those people?"
"Let's not talk about it Vik… I don't want to think about it." There was a shuffling and when Artie spoke again it was barely audible. "What do you make of this guy?" Drake didn't need to see them to know they were talking about him.
"Dunno. Morgana's seems quite fond of him, so I guess he's all right. The kid's a stitch though."
"Yeah. She's a great kid, but you know Morgana told me she's not really his."
"Doesn't surprise me. He seems too brooding to be responsible for her sense of humor." There was a silence. "I hope she's all right."
Drake's stomach froze over. Did that madman go after Gosalyn? He tore open the curtains and the two sentries jumped in surprise.
"Where is she?" He growled.
"Morgana is…" Viktor started.
"Where is Gosalyn!"
The pair of them looked at one another, then Arnie pointed to where the stage stood on the other side of the curtain. Drake started to run but felt the clammy hand of the cadaver man grab his bicep to halt him.
"We can't let you go out there just yet. She asked us to keep you here…"
Drake pounded Viktor in the beak before he could finish his sentence. The creature released him and stumbled backward. Arnie shouted in outrage and readied to pounce on him. Drake kicked him in the stomach to keep him away.
"That's for trying to feed me to a frog." Drake snarled and without stopping to see the realization dawn on their faces ran to where they had pointed.
"That was you?" Screeched Arnie in disbelief after him.
He pushed the curtain aside and saw the rest of the marvels huddled in a circle in the center of the stage, with Honker toward the middle. His heart sunk as he dashed toward them. What would he do if he had lost her? He had lived alone for so long but now that she was there… he felt happy. For the first time in his life he had a family, a small one, but still a family. He couldn't bear to think about life without her. Something collided with him almost knocking him off stage.
"Dad you're all right!" Squealed the assailant who was latched tightly onto his waist.
"Gos…" He pried her off and inspected her. "Did he hurt you?"
"He tried to take me Dad, but I kicked him where the sun don't shine and punched his lights out! He broke my arm though but Morgana just fixed it up good as new!" She flexed her left bicep. Her eyes danced across his torn shirt. "I heard he stabbed you… I should have ripped his eyes out!" She spat.
"Gosalyn… don't…" The comment fell unheeded and she continued to ramble off violent and gory punishments she would have inflicted on Quackerjack. His eyes rose to the marvels who all regarded him rather coldly. Morgana was among them, her eyes averted. He would have to apologize to her; he never was very good at that. He wasn't truly certain if he could trust her but he couldn't deny it anymore, he wanted too. If she was only using him for whatever magical potency he had then, he would allow it for saving his life… and quite possibly Gosalyn's as well. That is what he told his brain, but his heart wanted to trust her for different reasons. With a sigh he lowered his defenses. Instantly the weak lights surged into a radiant brightness and a number of them shattered. The broken bulbs sparked defiantly the sparks changed to vibrant, unnatural colors as they flickered out of existence. He could feel her eyes upon him but he refused to look at her. After all the horrible things he had said to her she still saved them both… he never could properly apologize.
"Whoa! What was that?" Proclaimed Gosalyn loudly as she walked over to Honker her eyes on the broken lights.
He heard someone coming at him. Perhaps it was Viktor, coming to settle the score for the sucker punch. Would he defend or just take the hit? Take the hit… he decided, that would show his appreciation. The feet approached and the fist didn't come. Instead he found her arms around him and with so much as a bat of an eyelash she kissed him. The remaining bulbs shattered, their glass melting into water as it showered the ground.
"Way to go Dad!" Whooped his enthusiastic ten year old.
In the dark tent she seemed to glow before him. She held him close and whispered to him through light tears.
"I'm sorry you felt deceived… I'm sorry I shocked you, I was aiming for him but you kicked him right when I released the spell." She spoke breathlessly. "This is all my fault I never should have allowed him to join us. I should have.."
"Don't." He interrupted her. "Don't apologize to me and don't blame yourself for things you can't control."
"But Drake, I've caused you so much pain. I am to blame for all of this… if I had never lost my ring…"
"You'd never met me or Gosalyn…"
"You wouldn't have been hurt…"
He gave her a wry smile.
"Morg… I always get hurt."
"I love you."
His heart stopped. What? Had he just imagined that? Did she really just say that or did he only hear what his own heart was screaming? He became very aware of all the eyes that were upon them. He pulled himself out of her arms and she looked devastated.
"We need to talk." He said flatly and firmly grasped her hand and led her outside. The rain was still pouring steadily; he led her to the next tent and after insuring that it was empty ducked inside. There were boxes piled all around and a dim lantern hung on a beam, this was a supply tent. He released her hand and turned to her. The rain still dripped down her elegant face and added a wet shine to her silky hair. She looked as though she had her heart ripped out and tap danced on.
"I'm such a fool…" She sadly started.
"Why would you say that Morgana?" His soft tone only seemed to deepen her sorrow. He sat on an uncluttered box keeping his eyes on her. "You've barely known me three days, how can you say that you love me?"
"I know you,…" she said with a sweet smile. "I've spent so many past lives with you. I don't care how unbelievable it may sound." She said dismissively, suspecting his skepticism. "Our souls are old Drake, and we've managed to find each other over and over again in countless reincarnations."
"You say that with so much confidence, how can you be so sure it's me?" He wanted to believe it, but the man from his dream was right… why would this beautiful woman want him?
"I'll admit, I did have some doubts at first. The other men you were had an overpowering darkness in them. A vile, violent temper and a vicious mean streak. Negative energy that often flowed over the good,… I happen to know that more than a few times we have died at each others hands because of it. Such an all consuming evil flared with in your soul that always seemed to devour you… but now…" Her gorgeous eyes sparkled at him. "Now I find you this time and your so pure… so good it almost hurts to be around you."
"I can't be who you think I am. I assure you I'm not a very good person. I really am a lousy, selfish guy…" He tried to convince not only her but also himself. He couldn't stand to complicate things more than they all ready were. He couldn't let himself pull her down with him, no matter how much he wanted to be with her. "I've hurt people, I'm arrogant, reckless, self serving, and I've even killed…"
"I know what you've done, your imprint showed me so much. I may not have seen your whole life but what I did see was you doing what you had to Drake. You've lived by what you thought was right, and you shouldn't blame yourself for what happened to your parents." She took his hand comfortingly. His eyes shot to her in shock.
"My parents?" He searched her face, she looked sincere, and understanding.
"I didn't mean to say that you should feel responsible…" she started quickly.
"Morgana…," he said as his mouth went dry, "… I have no memory of my parents."
They stared at each other in the dim lamp light. The rain water was still dripping off her hair and her eyes shone with sadness.
"Oh no… I've seen something you've repressed?" She finally asked. " I'm so sorry Drake I didn't…"
"What happened? What should I feel guilty about?" He asked her half heartedly.
"I.." she looked reluctant.
His temper began to flare. Why should she keep his memories from him? He deserved to know more than she did. Why should she know more about him than he did?
"Can you show me?" He watched her carefully. She stared hopelessly into his eyes, when she saw he wouldn't back down she nodded.
"Just to warn you it was a fractured vision. I can only show you what I saw." She took his hands in hers and he ignored how bright the lantern's light shone. She sat at his feet. "Close your eyes."
His hands became very warm and images began to dance across his eyelids as if put there by a projector. A large manor set back on a grassy hill stood before him, a large gaudy "G" emblazoned the front gate. In a flash he was inside, ancient artifacts and expensive furnishings were surrounding him. Like a slide show he saw faces, hauntingly familiar but distant and unreachable. They must be his mother, father…. and sister? He saw them in flashes for only a fraction of a second, sitting outside, in his father's study, on a picnic. Then there was darkness. His father appeared at his feet… dying, knife wounds covered his body and he heard a voice that once must have been his own.
"Dad! What happened to you? Who did this?"
His father faded and his mother materialized sprawled out on a bed the knife still buried deep in her heart. The next thing he saw was his sister's terrified face and then she was gone. A jolt of agony ripped through his brain, he saw the halls of the asylum, and the blood on his hands. He yanked his hands away from her and his eyes shot open.
She looked frightened. He realized how hard it was to breath and how badly he was shaking, he tried to calm himself. It was no use all he could do was listen to the terrified rhythm of his heart.
"W…was that last thing… an asylum? That wasn't there before…." She whispered.
"I… I don't know." He lied. What did it all mean? Someone had killed his parents… buried deep inside he knew who had done it, from what he just saw it might have been him. No. No it wasn't possible, he would know if he did. Wouldn't he? He felt sick, literally, he had the horrible feeling that if he opened his mouth at the moment he would throw up. Up until an hour ago he had been so certain of many things, he had abandoned the idea of searching for his past and was living the life he had now. But here it was, rearing its ugly head and only raising more questions. It seemed that now not only Morgana knew more about his past than he did but also Quackerjack as well. It nagged him, that name the maniac had thrown out so conversationally, "Elmo". He had no idea who the name belonged to but in some dark crevasse of his mind he felt he knew him. He found the sickness was ebbing away and he composed himself the best he could.
"Morgana, can you unlock my memories?"
She shook her head.
"I wouldn't even know where to start something as complicated as that. Drake," she took his hand again and the remaining illness left him, "… you don't remember for a reason. Maybe it's better if you don't know what happened. I understand that I must sound cold asking you not to pursue the chance to regain years of your life, but there was something dark back there. Something very wrong, you shouldn't tempt it to return." She pleaded with him.
"Maybe you're right." He sighed. Did he want to know what happened? What if he did kill them? What if he was a psychopath just waiting to be released? He didn't want to know. He wanted to be Drake Mallard, a single dad and a secret crime fighter. And if that meant not knowing, he looked at the relief on the lovely face before him, then so be it. He became very self-conscious as he realized how horrible he must look at this moment. He cleared his throat nervously; he wasn't quiet use to being looked at so closely by beautiful women. "Well, I should probably get back to Gosalyn and Honker… his parents will be worried." He stood but she held his hand tight.
"I'm sorry if I missed your response but I...," her eyes were on the ground a tone of embarrassment was in her soft statement. "…I can't let you go until I know how you feel about me."
"All that imprinting and magic you have and you still can't tell?" He smirked.
"It doesn't really work that way. I mean I can't just…" She started hotly but he lifted her face with a gentle touch and she fell silent.
"I'm crazy about you."
Far from the magic, and what was taking place at the circus there was an urgent matter that needed to be taken care of. The rain was a thick sheet that hazed the world out of focus. The streets of St. Canard were unusually quiet, which suited his purposes just fine. Any second now the fool would walk past the alley where he lurked. He clicked his metallic beak impatiently. He was soaked to the bone, damn near freezing, his new suit was drenched, and the dry cleaning bill would not be a pretty sight. He couldn't complain however, not with the company he kept tonight anyway, and at least the alley was shelter from the rain. Soggy clumsy footfalls neared the alley and his target came into sight. He shot his hand out and grabbed the goofy looking duck by the shirt and slammed him hard against the wall. The nutcase that referred to himself as Quackerjack was only partially suited up, the jester hat was nowhere to be seen and an unruly mass of orange hair was wetted to his head. The unnerving eyes that glared at him slid immediately into horror as realization swept over the fool's face.
"Steelbeak!" peeped Quackerjack.
"Clownie da boss ain't too happy 'bout what ya did back dere. You gonna screw dis all up over some goil?"
"Morgana is not just some girl." Growled the captive.
"Sure she ain't. But ya gotta see it da way we do. Da boss gave you a chance ta do tings yer way an' can you disagree when I say it got outta hand?"
Quackerjack answered with an abashed silence.
"Didn't tink so. Now lissen Mac, since ya can't make da right decisions he's gunna make dem for ya." Steelbeak snapped his metal mouth loudly.
"Oh? And I suppose he sent you here with a singing telegram did he?" Spat the suddenly un-intimidated lunatic.
A match danced into life in the dark heart of the alley and lit a cigar.
"Wrong again." Came the gnarled deep voice from the shadows.
"Boss, I kin handle dis." Steelbeak reassured him.
"I don't remember addressing you, Rusty." His tone was impartial but his words stung like venom. He was barely visible, just a darker figure in the creeping shadows, with the curling bittersweet smoke steadily rising from the expensive cigar. He didn't move but he didn't have to, he was terrifying enough when he was perfectly still. "I don't like to make house calls, especially in shit weather like this, but you force me to do things I'd rather not do." He exhaled a screen of smoke. "Drop 'em."
Steelbeak glared at Quackerjack and removed his hands from him. Quackerjack felt the urge to run, strike, and cower all at the same time. The different scenarios played out in his fractured mind rapidly and he reached the conclusion that the only way he would survive was to cower.
"Your handy work at the dumbest place on Earth was very impressive, it was like watching a master at work, but then you went and got stupid."
"How could you see what I did?" He had to fight the shakiness in his voice.
"My eyes are everywhere. That being said I think you owe me an explanation before I act prematurely."
By that Quackerjack knew he meant to kill him or worse. His mind raced to find something he could say that would save his hide. He only had one thing he could say that might deter the anger onto someone else.
"He was there." Quackerjack responded.
There was a moment of eerie silence; the only thing that moved was the gray smoke that rose in spires in the damp night air.
"So I have heard." The deep voice finally answered, a cloud of gray escaping with each word. "I also heard that it was only after you attempted to strangle him that you discovered who he was. That is quite discerning…" The calmness of his voice burned hotter than a red-hot poker.
"I…" He would have to think up something fast.
"Save it Pagliacci. There was no harm done, fortunately for you she was there to clean up your mess. And while some have told me after recent actions you can't be trusted," Quackerjack noticed a sneer cross Steelbeak's face, "…I feel I still have use for you."
The smirk faded fast from the metal mouth and Quackerjack felt one ravish his own features.
"Thank you Boss! You won't be sorry…" He began.
"I all ready am." Snapped the voice from the darkness. "In order to keep my mind in this decision I will give you orders directly and you will follow them as closely as Renfield to Dracula, got it?" The growled question was more like a declaration. All Quackerjack could manage to do was nod. "Good. Now this is what you're going to do…."
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Darkwing Duck and all related characters are © Disney
Romance, Mystery, Murder, Maniacs, Mysticism, and a bit of foreshadowing?
The plot thickens eh?
Sorry to keep you all waiting. I've had a lot on my plate lately, none of it very good. So bear with me here, okay? (Not to mention the weather in grand old New Jersey has been rather wonderful this past week, so I haven't been spending too much time glued to a computer screen.) I'm going to keep on trying to do the weekly (on Mondays) updates, but with the semester almost over I'm not sure how I'm going to be updating when the time comes. (Because all computers I have owned hated me and exploded.) Perhaps I'll become a wandering vagabond with a floppy disc and a very thick binder filled with Darkwing related chicken scratch asking to use people's computers to update… who knows. Not me that's for sure. So I hoped ya enjoyed this long chapter and ideally I'll get the next one up in a week. Oh and for those of you going "Who the hell is Pagliacci? What a dumb name to give Quackerjack!" Pagliacci is an opera about a heart broken clown, and incidently the italian word for clown or the clowns. So there ya go... you learned something today.