(Author's note: I apologize to my readers for the prolonged wait. I have a bunch of excuses, but I won't bore you. I'm currently doing well, and trying to be more productive with my writing. Thank you everyone for reading and commenting. I am not abandoning this story. It will continue.)

Blue Waltz

Chapter 14: Clam

Sept 23, Cont.

Charity had been to the youth shelter plenty of times to volunteer, but not lately since becoming a supervisor for DCF. It felt good to be working for a good cause that didn't involve all the red tape and rules she had been bogged down with in the system. It was also good not to be the one in charge.

And because Gosalyn was correct in saying that Bunny would be happy not to be shut up all day by himself, she brought the Corgi with her. It wasn't the first time, and she found that the little dog made it easier for some teens to open up.

"Hey, Ray. We're here to work," Charity reported at the front desk where a chubby moose sat.

"Great. We really need someone to grab us some coffee," Ray joked, bending over when Bunny went around the desk to say hello. "Hey, Bunny. How's our number one volunteer?"

Bunny plopped onto the ground and rolled over for a belly scratch.

"Where do you need me?" Charity asked.

Normally, she would help in the counseling area. While she wasn't a qualified counselors, most kids just needed information on where they could get work, medical help, food, shelter, and other necessities. She also helped them if they wanted to reconcile with parents or information if they wanted to be put into foster care, although this wasn't usually the case. It always surprised her how much of her job was giving out information on drug rehab, birth control, and sex education. But that was the services that the youth shelter provided.

It wasn't much, just a two story building down town where homeless kids could get a bite to eat, take a shower, get some sleep, and hang out without worrying about the dangers of the street. There were only a few rules the kids had to follow: No drugs, no weapons, no fighting and no stealing. In return, there were no police, no calls to parents, and no social workers with the exception of Charity and a few others who were there to help, not put them back in the system.

The goal was to create an environment with people that the kids could trust so that if they're in really big trouble, they will turn to the right people. It was a sad fact that many kids ran away from homes and even foster care because of abuse or they were kicked out. These homeless kids had to learn to toughen and grow up quickly as they fought for their lives daily. Many fell prey to drug addiction, gangs, and prostitution, which often led to the morgue. It was a victory when the youth shelter could guide one of these kids to a new home or they aged out of the system, got a job and turned out alright. The youth shelter offered job opportunities and classes for these kids to earn their GED.

"Actually, I think you and Bunny are just what we need today," Ray said. "We've got a couple of families that have lost some of their members. One girl has been sobbing non-stop since she arrived. Think Bunny could help out?"

Family was a term the shelter used for a bunch of kids that stayed together. The youth shelter encouraged this since it increased every member's chances of survival. Most of the time it was siblings who had run away together or a romantic couple. Families were the most common faces to show up at the youth shelter, so it hit everyone hard when someone died.

Charity went past the front desk to the main room where there was a TV and several couches for the homeless youth to rest or sleep on during the day. Normally, it would be filled with teens watching a movie or playing games on the coffee table or sleeping with a hoodie over their face. But this time, it was almost empty save for less than a dozen kids surrounding a girl who was sobbing.

Bunny strained on his leash, wanting to comfort the girl, but Charity kept him back to approach slowly. She recognized the girl, a young, red chicken who was a frequent visitor to the youth shelter. She was right on track to age out of the system: no drugs, not involved in any gangs, had a steady job and was looking at information to get her GED. The girl was strong and determined to survive, but mostly, she did it for her younger brother.

From what Charity remembered, the two were in a precarious predicament. Their parents were illegal immigrants who got in trouble with the law, smuggling she thought was their crime. They were sent back to their country of origin, leaving their children who were born in the US and legal citizens to fend for themselves. They had run away from the foster system when they were put into separate foster homes.

Charity had worked with them several times, speaking to them as a social worker to see if they would be willing to be put into a good home if Charity promised they would be kept together. They refused, and Charity didn't push it since the girl was almost seventeen and she took very good care of her brother, even making sure he went to school every day.

However, on that day, she didn't see the brother at the youth shelter.

Charity quickly recalled both their names. "Rosa, where is Juan?" she asked.

Bunny nuzzled up to Rosa's knee, giving a little whine.

Rosa's eyes widened, and for a moment, Charity thought she was going to run, but then she grabbed Charity forcefully. "Ms. Loveatte, you have to find Juan. He's gone."

"Gone?"

"Somebody took him," Rosa said.

"Who?"

"I don't know," Rosa said. "It happened last night. We couldn't get into the family shelter, so I know a place in the park with the mermaid fountain where we could sleep without the cops chasing us out. I was so tired after work, I fell asleep before he did. He had homework and was using the flashlight. When I woke up, he was gone."

Charity's heart fell. No! It's not fair. Rosa and Juan had a good chance of surviving the streets. But it was all too common for homeless kids to disappear.

"I'm so stupid. I should have stayed up with him," Rosa cried.

"It's not your fault," Charity said, grabbing Rosa's hand. "You didn't know this would happen."

"I wish that he had taken me, too," Rosa cried. "I should have been taken."

"Yo, you know the Shadow don't take teens," a boy said, folding his arms. His words sounded cold, but his stance and face were angry. Perhaps he had lost someone, too.

"Wait, you know who took Juan?" Charity asked. "Who is the Shadow?"

"Haven't you heard?" a girl dressed in skimpy clothes asked. She had many piercings, many were probably self-administered—Charity had sent many kids to a free doctor due to infections from such piercings. "He's the guy that's takin' all the kids. It's on the news."

"But they don't call him the Shadow," Charity said. "Have any of you met this guy?"

Everyone exchanged glances but kept their mouths shut.

"Nobody has seen him," Rosa said, sniffling and wiping her face. "But everyone knows he's the Shadow. He takes kids that nobody wants or those who want to disappear."

Charity's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean? Those who want to disappear?"

"You know. Kids who hate where they live," the angry boy said. "Their parents fighting all the time. They get yelled at and called names. Their old man drinks too much and they want to disappear. So's the Shadow comes for them and takes them away."

"Where?" Charity asked, her heart hammering.

The boy shrugged. "Beats me. If I'd known, I'd probably be there myself. It's gotta be better than my pad. My ol' lady tosses me out when she drinks too much, which is every day."

Charity couldn't believe this information. Did the police know all this? Had they even bothered to question any of the teens here in the youth shelter? Probably not. None of the kidnappings were linked to the shelter.

"Why does the Shadow take the younger kids and not teens?" Charity asked.

The skimpy-clothed girl blew a bubble almost as big as her head before it popped. "Probably because he likes 'em young."

If Charity had to guess how the girl earned money, it was that she worked the street corners. It was common for teen girls—and sometimes teen boys—to become prostitutes to earn money, and as long as there were people paying for sex, it wouldn't stop. Charity had spent several hours educating homeless teens on the risks of continuing down this route—STDs, unwanted pregnancies, abusive pimps and Johns—but some teens were either unwilling to change or were addicted to drugs or felt so degraded that they no longer believed in redemption. Even those who did get out, most returned to the life, finding making money the honest way a lot harder.

"No, that ain't it," another boy, one who remained silent, spoke up. "He's not a pervert. He's a saint."

The girl rolled her eyes and moved away, plopping down on a couch on the far side of the room.

"What do you mean?" Charity asked, turning to the other boy. She didn't recognize him from any of her previous visits.

"I shouldn't be talkin' to you," the boy said. "You sound like a cop."

"She ain't," the angry boy said. "She's a social worker."

That made the other boy look even more scared and he took off, racing out of the youth shelter as if demons were on his tail.

"Wait!" Charity called, but she knew it was no use. The boy was skittish enough. She didn't want to give him an excuse to stay away from the youth shelter forever, although it might be a few days before he returned.

Yet, she wished that she had been able to question the boy further; he may have known something critical in finding the missing children.

After spending time with the teens and introducing everyone to Bunny, she left her four-legged friend with the kids and returned to the front desk.

"Hey, Ray. Do you know who that boy is? The one that ran off?" Charity asked.

"Yeah, that's Walter. What did you say to him?" Ray asked, unused to Charity scaring away the kids.

"We were talking about all the missing kids, and he said something about the Shadow," Charity reported. "I asked some questions, and it spooked him."

Ray shook his head. "The Shadow? He's just an urban legend someone made up. The kid must be jacked."

"He seemed clear-headed. Do you think that if he comes by again, you could convince him to talk to me?" Charity asked. "He got scared because I said I was a social worker."

"It's no wonder," Ray said. "The kid's been passed through the system a lot. His last foster home caught him peeping on their daughter, and they freaked. He freaked and ran away. I think he was also abused by a family, too."

Charity longed to help the boy and perhaps find out which families he had been placed with to get them off the list. She planned on digging up his file back at DCF, but then she remembered that she was on forced vacation. Instead, she would have to contact one of the other social workers and get them to do the work for her. In the meantime, she could work on finding those kids.

And it sounded like she needed to start by finding out more about this Shadow, whoever he was. Urban legend or not, there was something to what Walter had said.

Pepper yawned as she walked into FOWL headquarters. She had been up late again, and not on any project for the evil organization. She may be a hacker, a devious minion and a violent sociopath, but that didn't mean she didn't have her own harmless hobbies and her own life. And that life just so happened to be centered around the newest adventure computer game. She had already beaten it five times, but there were so many hidden levels that she was determined to find every single one.

And as long as she didn't let it get in the way of work, then nobody was the wiser. With only three hours of sleep, Pepper grabbed a cup of coffee and put on her most professional face. And considering that she was one of the few high-tech hackers that FOWL had and had her own office that shared the space of a computer bigger than an elephant, she didn't anticipate getting caught if she so happened to take a nap or two while on the clock.

However, that was not meant to be. Once she had booted up the computer and went through her usual routine of checking messages—both physical and electrical—she moved on doing what she was hired to do. She hadn't been working longer than an hour before something on her screen caught her attention. Immediately, she called up a member of High Command.

"What is it, Agent Pepper?" the shadowy form of the single FOWL leader demanded.

Pepper knew that the anger in the man's voice, the shadows, the whole threatening atmosphere that he had to exude, was all pomp and circumstances. It was part of the whole organization. She had to be treated like any other member of the staff and not that this man, who was her beloved uncle, hadn't bounced her on his knee and given her ice-cream when she was a little duckling.

"Sir, the energy levels in the supernatural spectrum rose drastically last night," Pepper reported, saluting her uncle. "Some major magic was performed in the city."

"More phone calls?" the FOWL leader asked.

"No. This is much bigger," Pepper said.

"Could it be Morgana? Or another sorceress?" her uncle asked.

"Possibly, but unlikely," Pepper said. "We have eyes on Morgana and her family, and none of the Macawbers are anywhere near St. Canard. And no other magic-users, monsters or normal, have any interest in the city."

"Then they have finally showed up," the FOWL leader said, his lit eyes widening. "Can we track them?"

"Not unless they cast another spell," Pepper said. "But I can pinpoint the supernatural spike down to a city block. Someone would have to go in with specialized equipment to track them down. At least in theory."

"In theory?" her uncle asked, his tone not at all pleased.

"You only brought me in last year to create this kind of technology," Pepper said with as much respect as she could while standing up for herself. "This is as good as it gets, especially since you haven't brought a subject in for me to study."

Her uncle narrowed his eyes at her accusation. "In theory…how would you be able to track the targets?"

"Depending on the origin of their magic," Pepper said, twirling in her chair. "If it's these monsters that I've been hearing so much about, their magic is purely natural and almost invisible to my sensors. But if they're sorcerers or wizards or whatever the hell they call themselves—'normals' who have studied magic and learned to use it—they are dripping with magic, leaving a trail behind for my tech to follow. At least if the trail is fresh."

"How fresh?"

"A couple of days tops. Time is crucial," Pepper said.

"Then head to St. Canard right away," the member of High Command ordered.

"What?" Pepper stopped twirling in her chair, almost falling out. "Unc—I mean, High Commander, I'm not a field worker. I do my work at the computer. This is where I belong."

"This project is of utmost importance, especially since the other members of High Command know nothing about it," her uncle hissed. "We cannot afford to let the targets get away or put our fate in the hands of some lackey. And more important, we cannot be discovered."

Pepper gulped, not wanting to think about what would happen if the other members of High Command found out her uncle's double-cross. "Alright, but you can't expect me to be able to take on a sorcerer or a monster by myself." If he did, her uncle hadn't thought this plan through.

"You're just to locate and confirm the targets," her uncle said. "I have ways of taking care of them, but I need to know if they are the ones I've been waiting for."

"But I would still like to have someone come with me," Pepper said. It was strange to feel so insecure. Usually she could make a person feel uncomfortable just by staring weirdly at them. "Could I have a partner, just someone to help me out? He doesn't have to know anything."

Her uncle was silent for a while before answering. "Who did you have in mind?"

"Steelbeak," Pepper said, wondering if it was too much to ask for FOWL's number one agent. But he owed her. And she kept his secrets, terrible secrets, ones that if High Command found out, he would be demoted to the lowest rank of Eggman.

"Steelbeak? Are you sure he can keep quiet?" her uncle asked.

Pepper smiled. "Oh, believe me. He's kept his mouth shut plenty of times. And if he doesn't…" In a flash, she pulled out a pen clipped to her uniform and pulled off a secret cap, revealing a hidden syringe. "…he won't be saying anything to anybody."

"Good."

Gyro's neck started to hurt, but he still watched his invention rise higher and higher into the sky. It had worked. He had hoped that the device wasn't too heavy; after dozens of prototypes, he had half-expected it to fail. But now that he had the mechanics working, he needed to fine tune the software. In time, it would be ready to predict weather and storms based on air temperature, air pressure and other variables. Eventually, the world would be able to forecast tornados, hurricanes, and other storms much sooner.

"Wow, that was some impressive ingenuity there, doc."

The accent was a bit confusing for Gyro. He was aware of sarcasm, but he had a hard time deciphering it from most people. The man's accent must make everything he said sound sarcastic.

"Thank you very much," Gyro said, turning around. "I'm just glad it didn't explode."

"Uh…that ain't gonna happen, right?" The rooster in the fine suit asked, taking a step back.

"Oh, even if it does, we wouldn't be affected by the blast," Gyro said with a chuckle.

"But it could fall on us, right?" the rooster asked uneasily.

"Oh, I guess I wasn't thinking about that," Gyro said, tilting his head as he tried to calculate the trajectory of the proverbial metallic pieces that might fall on him. "Maybe I should get my umbrella."

"Or just bring the thing down, doc," Steelbeak requested. "I have a proposition for ya."

"A proposition?" Gyro asked, using his controls to bring the helicopter-type creation to the ground. "If you need me to fix a toaster or something, I'd be glad to help out. I have a form for you to fill out and my rates are—"

"I don't need a toaster fixed," Steelbeak snapped so hard, his beak continued to vibrate a while. "I have a friend that needs your help."

"Does he have a toaster that needs to be fixed?" Gyro asked, landing the device expertly on his lawn.

Steelbeak kept a lid on his temper. There was something about the scientist that was a bit odd. He was friendly and congenial, but nothing about his demeanor, his posture or his words suggested world-renowned genius. Steelbeak had the impression that all of Gyro's smarts had to do with machines and not reading people.

Steelbeak smiled. "No, not a toaster," he said, putting a hand around Gyro's shoulders. "Doc, do you know anything about mechanical prosthetics?"

"Like your beak there?" Gyro asked.

"Yeah, like my beak," Steelbeak said, not wanting to get into the how and why there. "My friend was in a terrible accident, and he's had a few prosthetics himself. The trouble is, they're not working the way they should. So I thought I'd come down to see if the brilliant Dr. Gearloose would help him out."

"Prosthetics aren't exactly my area of expertise," Gyro said uncertainly. "I work mostly with mechanical parts. You need someone who knows both mechanics, biology, and anatomy."

"Oh, but it has to do with the mechanical parts," Steelbeak said. "You see, they keep over-heating."

Gyro frowned. "Over-heating? Are they battery powered? Did you install a ventilation system?"

Steelbeak smiled, glad to see that the scientist had taken the bait. "That's why we need your help. If you would just come with me, it won't take much time at all."

"I would like to help out," Gyro said, taking a few steps with Steelbeak before stopping. "But I have a lot of work to do for Mr. McDuck."

And Steelbeak almost backed down. Almost.

"Oh, you know Scrooge McDuck?" Steelbeak said, working hard not to stumble over his words. "He's an old friend of mine. He knows about the prosthetic. In fact, you'd be doing him a favor by coming with me and helping."

"Really?"

Steelbeak couldn't believe that it was going to be this easy. "Yeah. I'll tell ya everything on the way."

"Well, okay," Gyro said, carrying his helicopter do-dad with him.

This was going to be the easiest nab-n-grab he'd ever done. However, there was one thing for certain. There ain't no way Gyro was going to live to describe his abductor to Scrooge McDuck.

Gosalyn was never one for routines, but since Charity's life wasn't riddled with solving crimes and fighting bad guys, the duckling had gotten used to the new rhythm of her life of going to school, taking the bus to the day care she stayed at until Charity picked her up then going to the apartment to do homework, eat dinner and do small, normal things until bed. It was boring, but there was a type of security in the routine.

So when Charity picked her up from the middle school, she felt off. It was as if she knew something in her life was going to change. It was how she noticed they weren't returning to the apartment the same way.

"Are we going somewhere?" Gosalyn asked, looking out the window.

"We're going to pick up Simon," Charity announced.

Bunny stuck his head around the front seat, looking back at Gosalyn with his tongue lolling out. Gosalyn hadn't noticed that the dog was inside the car. She was definitely distracted.

"That's cool," Gosalyn said, smiling.

She was getting used to having a next-door neighbor that was a lot younger than her. The young rooster was almost as enthusiastic as she was about having fun, but wasn't as extreme. Simon had been over to their apartment regularly, sometimes all day on Saturday and Sunday when his foster parents had to work. It felt different hanging out with someone younger, but she got into a lot less trouble because of Simon.

"I'll probably be picking him up almost every day," Charity said, turning onto the street from the school's pick-up zone. "I hope that you don't mind playing with him."

"I love it," Gosalyn said sincerely. It made her feel like a big sister with how much she spent time with Simon.

Gosalyn expected for them to go to her old elementary school but instead they went to an elementary school that was within the city, a lot closer to the apartment complex. It wasn't until then that Gosalyn realized that Charity traveled a far distance for Gosalyn to go to her middle school instead of placing her in a different one.

When they arrived at the elementary school, Gosalyn expected a wide grin from the young rooster and a lot of talking. Simon was quite the talker. However, when he climbed into the car, he barely acknowledged Charity and only gave Gosalyn a wave.

"Is everything okay?" Charity asked, noticing how quiet Simon was. "Did you have a bad day?"

"I have to go see my dad this weekend," Simon said sadly. "My real dad."

"That will be nice," Charity said, trying to get him to see the bright side of things. "I'm sure he wants to get to know you."

"I don't want to go," Simon protested. "He's gonna want me to go live with him. I want to stay with Angie and Tim."

Gosalyn saw Charity's eyebrows lower, but she didn't say anything.

"You don't know that," Gosalyn said. "Maybe he just wants to spend some time with you. When he knows just how much you love Angie and Tim, he's not gonna want to take you away."

Simon frowned, his eyes looking angry. "No, he's going to take me away. It's why Angie and Tim haven't been able to adopt me. But I'm not gonna go with him."

"Nobody is going to make you go with him," Gosalyn said, looking to Charity. "You won't let Simon's father take him, right Charity?"

"It's not up to me," Charity said. Then she put a smile on. "What would you two like for a snack? Should we make some cookies?"

But the question didn't get the response she was looking for. The ride back to the apartment was dismal and gloomy.

Since Angie was still working at the hospital and wouldn't pick him up until later, Simon stayed with them, playing video games with Gosalyn after they finished their homework. A little after six, the doorbell rang announcing Angie's arrival.

"Simon, are you ready to go home?" Angie said, bending down for a hug.

Simon, who had been muted and moody the entire day even when playing games, raced to his foster mother and hung onto her.

"He's been like this all week," Angie said in a low tone to Charity. "Was he good for you?"

"He was great," Charity said. "Gosalyn enjoys spending time with him."

"I could babysit him if you ever need a sitter," Gosalyn suggested, thinking of the money.

Charity didn't believe in giving her an allowance like her dad did, but she paid Gosalyn for doing chores. Gosalyn was always looking for new ways to earn a little more spending cash. And if she got some experience babysitting Simon, she could start a business back home. If she ever got back home.

"I think you might be a little too young," Angie said politely. "But if Charity agrees to supervise, I think we could try you on a trial period." She gave Charity a wink.

It was basically the same situation as before except maybe a little more responsibility for Gosalyn. If she could earn a little cash by playing video games with Simon, then it was to her benefit.

"Say, goodbye Simon," Angie said, taking his hand.

"Bye Gosalyn," Simon said, grabbing his backpack and waving. "Thanks for playing with me."

Charity closed and locked the door behind the duck and young rooster, then turned off the video game console to turn on the news. It had become habit for the two of them to watch the news, anxious to know if any of the missing kids had been found. More often than naught, the newscaster would announce more names of missing children.

"We have been informed that two more children were snatched just outside of their schools," the news castor said in a somber voice. Two pictures appeared next to the man, featuring young, smiling faces. "Jerald Cumberbun, age eleven, was taken during recess from North Creek Middle School, and Melissa Vann, age seven, from St. Canard East Elementary just a few hours ago when school was released. In both instances, teachers did not know the children were missing until much later, and there have been no reports of suspicious persons near the schools. If anyone sees these children, please contact the police immediately. In the meantime, all parents are cautioned to keep an eye on their children. The mayor is talking about setting up a curfew sometime this week."

"Two more," Charity said, sinking in the couch. "Melissa Vann. I placed her."

Gosalyn picked at the plastic aglet on her shoe. "Darkwing will find them. He has to."

When Simon and Angie got to their door, a sticky note made the female duck pause and read it.

"It looks like we have a package at the front office," Angie said, putting her keys back in her purse. "Let's go. You can look at the fish."

Normally Simon loved to go to the front office to look at the large salt water tank that the owner kept. Sometimes he was even allowed to feed the fish. But today, he wasn't in the mood. But he nodded his head, took Angie's hand and followed.

They walked to the front office where Angie left Simon by the fish tank, ruffling his hair before turning to the girl who was watching the front desk. Angie told the girl about the package, and the girl started rummaging through the stack of packages that were too big for the apartment mail boxes. It was a large apartment complex, well over twenty buildings, and there were a lot of packages.

After a while, the girl came back empty handed. "Sorry, I didn't see anything with your name on it."

Angie frowned. "But there was a note on my door. See?" She pulled out the sticky note.

The girl at the front desk frowned as well. "We don't do that. You should have gotten a notice in your mailbox about a package. This isn't from us."

Angie was irritated, but realized it wasn't the girl's fault nor the apartment complex. Someone must have been pulling a prank on her. "Sorry. Thank you," she said with a half-smile, half-frown before turning around.

She saw the fish tank, and the chair that Simon had been kneeling on to look at the fish, but Simon was no longer there.

"Simon?" she called, thinking he may have just wandered to another part of the office. She expected him to pop up somewhere and say her name. But he didn't. "Simon? Simon, if you're hiding, please come out. I'm not joking."

He sometimes did that: played hide-and-seek without telling anyone. He was young and silly and just wanted to spend every minute of his life playing.

But he didn't pop out and scare her or anything like that.

"Simon!" Angie said louder, turning in a circle. She turned to the girl at the front desk. "My son was at the fish tank. Did you see him go in the back or where he went?"

"Um…no. There's a bathroom right there," the girl said helpfully.

Angie raced to the bathroom, but it was empty. She raced to the office door, calling out the little rooster's name over and over again. But he wasn't in sight. He wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Darkwing saw the news the same time the rest of St. Canard did, the names and faces of the two missing kids shown and repeated several times, trying to get every viewer to commit them to memory. And for Darkwing, it hit a note of recognition.

"Wait a minute," Darkwing said, squinting at the screen even though it was ten feet tall. "Launchpad, where's the tape recorder for the bug in Musman's office?"

The tall duck, who was neck deep in files, trying to find anything that all of them had in common, jumped to assist the masked hero. "Here it is, DW." He passed over the tape-player over.

Darkwing rewound the tape and played it over again. Musman had made several calls throughout the day and had some visitors, but most of the tape was dead air. He finally found the spot he was searching for.

The sound of a phone dialing came through the small speaker before someone picked it up. There was a moment of silence before Musman said, "Jerald Cumberbun. North Creek Middle School. Melissa Vann. St. Canard East Elementary," before hanging up.

"Those are the names of the kids taken this afternoon," Darkwing Duck said, seething and gripping the tape-player as if he were going to rip it apart. "That son of a bitch. He's helping the guy who is taking those kids."

This was the last straw. Darkwing Duck didn't care if Musman knew his secret identity. He didn't care if the mouse was his only way to find out about the people who wanted Gosalyn. He was going to make Musman talk no matter what it took.

Before he could use his rage to carry out his promise, the phone inside the lair rang. He picked it up before cooling down, growling out, "Hello!"

"Darkwing Duck?"

It was Charity. And she sounded frantic.

"Yes," Darkwing said, calming down.

"You have to help. Another child has been taken," Charity pleaded.

"Gosalyn?" Darkwing asked, feeling faint.

No, not Gosalyn. Please, not Gosalyn.

"No, a boy from my building," Charity explained quickly. "Please, hurry. He's only been missing ten, maybe fifteen minutes."

This was the best lead on the case. Most of the trails were hours old before anyone knew the child was missing.

"I'm on my way."