Reformation
Chapter Eight
"He came back on his own. We didn't even have to go through the portal after him!" Jacob was fighting to convince Director Hooter that the recent event was devoid of any diabolical thought. And it was proving to be a hard fight. J. Gander sat in his chair inside his office, staring back at his old friend. He appeared to be unconvinced.
"Listen to me, John," Jacob sighed as he stepped forward and leaned over the large wooden desk. "What he did tonight was an act of contrition. An attempt at redemption! Ten weeks ago, he was the most notorious, cold-blooded murderer in the city's history, and now he is practically risking his life to apologize!"
"But he's a murderer, Jacob," J. Gander felt obligated to remind him. "You just said so yourself."
"He was a murderer," Jacob corrected him defensively. "If you put a guard in his room, that is going to influence his behavior. You can't do that!"
J. Gander stared back at him with old, tired eyes. He wanted to believe his old comrade--in the past he'd trusted Jacob with his life. But the director was a slave to the rulebook and procedure. And the uneasy feeling about this whole experiment would not leave him alone. "If anything happens, we are responsible. It would be one more stain that SHUSH does not need right now." He paused so he could let out an exhale, and then eyed his friend warningly. "I will give you one last chance with him. Otherwise, I will assign you to one of the other test subjects."
That was all Jacob needed to hear. That was all he wanted from the director. With an accepting nod, he turned and began to leave. But before he could get to the door, a thought came to him, and Jacob turned back around with a concerned frown on his face.
"John? Is there something I should know about the other test subjects?"
J. Gander gave him a grim look. "Jacob, you know I cannot give you that information. It could jeopardize the way you treat your own test subject."
"Yes, but I heard from one of the post-docs that some of the other subjects have died from liver failure." Jacob eyed Director hooter insistently. Pleadingly. "If that is the case then I really should know."
The old goose still remained reluctant to give the full details, and he picked up Negaduck's patient file from the corner of his desk. "Has your patient shown any signs of liver failure?"
"No, he has not."
"It says here that the only side effects he has experienced are nausea, dry mouth, insomnia, and an increasing level of remorse. But no signs of potentially fatal side effects" J. Gander stated as he read from the file in front of him. He lifted his eyes and looked at Jacob suggestively. "Perhaps you should stop listening to post-docs and start trusting your own level of expertise."
"Wow, that must have been some hit," Darkwing observed with both fascination and admiration.
Jake was closely examining his reflection in the mirror, particularly the left corner of his bill which had been snapped out of place during his altercation with Negaduck in the Negaverse. Upon his return to SHUSH, he had summoned the cape crime fighter to inform him of the recent events. And even though Darkwing was amazed that his diabolical double was still alive and on the loose, the elder mallard was less than impressed. In fact, he was downright annoyed by the recent outcome. Negaduck had gotten away, and Jake had gotten a busted bill.
But both things the SHUSH agent intended to rectify, the first being his vanity. Jake gripped the end of his bill tightly between his fingers. He inhaled a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and--
SNAP!
The howl of pain could be heard on the opposite side of the facility. Even Darkwing involuntarily flinched. "That must've hurt..." the hero groaned.
Jake muttered a run-on sentence of curse words as he chased away the tears that had sprung to his eyes and rubbed at his pounding bill which was now set back in its rightful shape. He stormed behind his desk and sank down into the soft leather of his chair.
"He is being used as a test subject in an experiment headed by Jacob Mallard," Jake hissed through his teeth as the final ounces of pain began to ebb away from his nose. "Some sort of behavioral modification drug trial. He's only one of many test subjects, but he's the star attraction. Even Director Hooter has given his consent on the experiment and taking the precautions to keep Negaduck's status unknown to the public."
Darkwing's blue eyes narrowed, as they usually did when the name of his father was brought up. "So it really was true. My felon-assisting father is responsible for that villain still living! Why would J. Gander consent to such an inconceivable idea??"
"They go way back, J. Gander and Jacob," Jake reminded bitterly. He pulled out an icepack and held it to his wounded bill while they conversed. "And he must have faith in this experiment, no matter how ridiculous it may be. I think the friendship J. Gander has with Jacob has clouded his judgment. It was pure luck that I managed to follow Negaduck to the Negaverse and found him before he could have hurt Gosalyn."
The color was instantly drained from Darkwing's face. Gosalyn--Negaduck's ward. He still remembered when he had met that young girl, and couldn't comprehend how such an innocent little angel had come under the iron fist of such a blood-thirsty psychopath. When he had left the Negaverse, and Gosalyn, in the hands of he Friendly Four, Darkwing was convinced that both the city and the girl had been left in safe hands. And now hearing that Negaduck had returned to his homeworld and had come dangerously close to harming Gosalyn, the hero began to feel his blood begin to boil beneath his feathers. As far as he was concerned, Gosalyn in the Negaverse was his daughter just as much as his own Gosalyn.
"You're right. There's no telling what that law-breaking lunatic would have done to Gosalyn if you hadn't shown up," Darkwing acknowledged distantly, trying to chase away the thoughts of what could have happened.
There was a long moment of silence, and Darkwing appeared to be in a reflective state of mind. Jake observed him curiously, knowing what kind of thoughts his lies were instilling in the hero who was so easily manipulated by his masked deviousness. Then, quite suddenly, the vigilante jumped to his feet from where he had been sitting in front of the desk.
"We've got to catch that conniving criminal before this 'experiment' gets out of hand," Darkwing declared firmly. "The idea that Negaduck can be reformed is as outrageous as an honest politician! What if we confront J. Gander about what happened in the Negaverse?"
Jake shook his head. "We're not even supposed to know about this experiment. If we do that, I can be reprimanded for infringement of top secret classified information." There was a short pause. "The only way around this red tape is to catch Negaduck in the act with witnesses--proof that his reformation is a loss cause and that he is still a danger to society."
Darkwing mulled over the idea before slowly nodding. "And knowing Negaduck, we won't have to wait very long."
"Exactly." Jake rose out of his chair, still holding the icepack to his bill as he approached Darkwing. He looked down at the young crime fighter who had put so much trust and admiration in him, and Jake gave him a sincere expression as he set his hand on his shoulder. "Be vigilante, Drake. He's out there, so keep a sharp eye."
Darkwing stood up in a proud stature upon hearing his mentor address him by his real name. It made him feel that father-son connection, and it made him determined not to let the old agent down. "When that sneak snake-in-the-grass strikes, we'll be there to catch him, or my name isn't Darkwing Duck!"
Jake smiled, the wickedness invisible. Little did Darkwing know that the real snake was standing right in front of him.
It was 7:30 in the evening, and by now most of the city's citizens were home with their families. Not many were out, and there was a chilling fall breeze sweeping through the streets. Drake, formerly known as Negaduck, was one of the few that roamed the sidewalks. His webbed feet padded on the concrete, his head was tilted toward the ground, and his hands were shoved into the pockets of the brown jacket he wore. Periodically his eyes would glower at the metallic bracelet locked around his ankle, reminding him that he was being tracked like an animal.
Yes, Drake knew their game by now. He lifted his head and looked behind himself, glaring hatefully at the ominous van parked not far down the street.
The two SHUSH agents sitting in the front seats of the van jerked their heads back and blinked. "He's stayed sharp, that's for sure," one of the muttered to the other.
Drake growled and shook his head as he looked forward again and continued on his way tot he shabby apartment he was forced to reside in for the time being. He was beginning to wonder if this whole experience was worth the sacrifices he made from being the public enemy. But surely they wouldn't keep him stuck in one place for long. Eventually, they would have to let him go. They would have to free him, and he could leave the life of a prisoner behind him. Maybe even live the normal life he had been denied in the past...
Before he could become too entrenched in his thoughts, Drake heard the sound of a car slowing to a stop behind him. When he turned his head, a yellow Jaguar pulled up alongside the sidewalk and the tinted window rolled down.
"Hey. Get in, I'll give you a ride home," the familiar voice called from inside the sports car.
Drake tilted his head skeptically, but ultimately shrugged and stepped over to the car. When he was settled into the leather seat and closed the door, he looked over to see Jacob's warm, greeting smile. "Out for a stroll?" he asked as the car rolled forward.
"Yeah. Just needed to clear my head, you know? After everything that's happened," Drake rumbled deeply. He hesitated before asking with a sense of caution, "How did things go with old Hooter?"
"Well, he certainly wasn't very happy," Jacob replied, turning his head long enough to give him a knowing look. "I managed to smooth things out with him, but it wasn't easy. Just...be a bit more careful, alright? Next time, at least let me know if no one else."
Drake nodded rather than give a verbal response, but that was good enough for Jacob. Several seconds of awkward silence went by, and Drake took in the inside of the vehicle. "This is a pretty smooth ride, old man."
Jacob smirked smugly in the dark interior of the car. "I had always wanted one in my younger cadet years. I knew it would serve as the perfect 'babe magnet.' But things changed," he explained, flashing him a small smile. "I didn't get around to finally getting it until recently."
The younger passed him a devious smile of his own. "Is it still serving its purpose, old timer?"
Jacob shook his head and even gave a light laugh. Even Drake allowed himself a smirk as he stared across the cabin of the car at the old mallard behind the wheel. Constantly he was forced to remind himself who this duck really was--that he was not his father, but the more virtuous double of his real father. At first, he had a hard time convincing himself that Jacob was not out to get him, that he was not out to capture him to use as an egotistical trophy. That was something Jake would do. And as time passed and the experiment continued, Drake felt himself letting down his defenses a little at a time, replacing it with the tiniest bit of trust. Perhaps at some point in the near future, he could put all of his trust in this man who knew so much about him.
Yet, it raised an important fact about the relationship between the two of them. Jacob knew everything there was to know about the ex-public enemy, but it wasn't a two-way street. Drake knew from the time of their first confrontation at the morgue that the old mallard was masking a life that was just as intriguing and tragic of his own.
The only sound was the low, quiet humming of the car's engine. There was nowhere for either of them to go. Drake saw it as the perfect opportunity to get the answers to some questions of his own.
"So what happened to them?"
Jacob turned his head and gave him a questionable stare. "Who?"
"Your family," Drake answered nonchalantly, playing the question as if it weren't a sensitive subject. "What happened to bring you here and turn that son of yours into the disillusioned do-gooder he is now?"
The agent hesitated, feeling his defenses begin to rise. It was indeed a sensitive subject, one which he did not discuss with anyone, nor did he plan do. "That's really none of your business, Drake," he answered sternly.
Drake scoffed cynically with a roll of his eyes. "Of course. I see how it is. You can know everything about me but I can know nothing about you. I get it."
"No. If I tell you about myself, it could compromise the way in which I treat you compared to the other test subjects. I don't want to jeopardize your treatment," he insisted pointedly in a less hostile tone.
But the technicalities the experiment was only part of the reason, and as Drake stared at him with a scrutinizing gaze, he was able to see right through the veteran agent's defensive exterior.
"You think I don't have a clue, old man?" Drake growled bitterly in his deep voice. "I know fear and pain. I've seen a lot of it--I've smelled it on each and every one of my victims. And I've experienced it myself. You know that, thanks to this experiment of yours. Because I'm so familiar with pain and fear, I can see it in everyone. And I see it in you...especially the pain."
Jacob felt his fingers tighten around the leather steering wheel, and his palms began to sweat. He suddenly felt unnerved by the duck in the seat next to him. In all of his life, Jacob Mallard had always been a difficult man to read, especially in regards to his private emotions and experiences which he carefully kept hidden deep within his psyche. This is what made him such a mystery to everyone else--no one knew anything about him, nor would they have guessed he had been a victim of tragedy.
But Drake had just read him like an open book. Jacob couldn't even bring himself to look at him, and instead kept his gaze on the road in front of him.
Still, Drake could sense the discomfort emanating from him. With a grunt, he slouched down in his seat and stared forward with an indifferent stare. "Alright. Never mind. After all, I of all people would understand that it's a touchy subject, right?" he said defeatedly, expecting Jacob to hold fast to his defiant attitude. Then he added in a low mutter, "Besides, it's not as if you went insane and murdered your family."
"No," came a subtle reply.
Drake turned his head with a raised brow, surprised he had received an answer. "No?"
"No. My daughter was killed in an accident and my wife committed suicide."
There was silence. A very long, very awkward silence. Jacob's words were so flat and so void of emotion, but it was a red flag to the emotional turmoil he had felt in the past, and that he was still feeling.
After staring at Jacob for a long moment, Drake shook his head apologetically and redirected his gaze to the windshield. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
Jacob shrugged, determined to sweep away the situation like sweeping away a pile of dust under the rug. "Well, it is something I constantly blame myself for ever since it happened many years ago. I should have been there to prevent it. If I hadn't been kept away against my will, they would still be alive." He had no idea the younger mallard was listening so intently, and he continued. "I was called out to an isolated field mission, which turned out to be a trap, set by a man who was determined to destroy my life just as he destroyed his own. He would later become my eternal enemy."
Drake's eyes narrowed darkly as the realization hit him. "Jake..."
Instead of affirming, Jacob continued. "He thought he had left me for dead. Before he shot me a final time, he threatened to kill my family if I ever set foot near them again." His mouth went dry, and he could feel his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth as he tried to dislodge the memories from his throat that he was choking on. "To protect them I had to make them, and the rest of the city, believe that I was dead. I couldn't make my presence known to anyone. As hard as it was, I managed to do so for many years. But it eventually backfired. My daughter turned to reckless teenage attributes while my wife slipped into a depressed, comatose state. Eventually, Carrie's recklessness ended her life and Gail took her own. Drake...My son was left to grow up on his own without any guidance and never knowing what came of his father. That is, until, another certain mallard came into his life and gave him a tainted story as to why I disappeared from his life..." his words trailed off into a deep growl, recalling that it was Jake who had implanted the story into Darkwing's head that Jacob disappeared on his own selfish recognance.
Drake watched him and waited patiently should he continue with his tragic story. And while Jacob had been reciting his life situation, he hadn't given him more than a quick glance and made it a point to avoid eye contact. To avoid any sign of vulnerability and weakening his position of authority.
Then Drake snorted disdainfully through his nostrils. "It sounds as if we were both victims of that lying liar's ways."
"That may be so, and although we've both faced our own tragedies at his hands, I know I can't begin to feel what you went through," Jacob said in a rare sincerity and took his eyes off of the road long enough to look at Drake. His pupils glistened from the lights of the streetlamps and buildings as they passed and there was a gentle expression on his old, worn face. "Perhaps if he had been on this drug all those years ago we would have both been spared the hardships."
Drake caught his eyes for an instant before Jacob returned his gaze forward. "You can drop me off right up here. I'll walk the rest of the way."
"Alright."
The Jaguar rolled to a stop alongside the curb and Drake pushed the door open. "Thanks for the ride."
Jacob nodded with a small smile. "Sure, no problem."
Drake began to climb out of the car, but then he stopped and looked back with a wry grin. "I have a job interview tomorrow. At the local Harley Duckinson shop."
"No kidding?" Jacob asked with a curious tilt of his head. A felt a small surge of success rise up inside of him. "That's great."
Drake nodded, but then looked thoughtful for a moment before he ventured into an important question. "Look, old man, about this thing on my ankle..."
He didn't even have to finish before Jacob shook his head with a chuckle. "Sorry, but it stays where it is."
"Oh, come on! I'm not going to run!" Drake protested rather childishly. "I have no reason to! I like the way things are right now, I like where I am. I swear!"
"And I believe you, Drake. But I've got rules to follow, too," the agent reminded him. His voice was gentle, almost fatherly, letting the young mallard know that there was nothing personal in the decision.
For a moment, Drake frowned in disappointment. But then he sighed in defeat and reluctantly nodded. "Alright, sure." He began to climb out of the car, but stopped again. He turned to him again. "Can I borrow the car?" Then he smiled deviously, jokingly.
Jacob laughed and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Good luck, Drake."
He got out of the car and closed the door behind him. In seconds, the car pulled away and continued on its way down the street. Drake watched it until it disappeared around the corner and then trudged down the sidewalk in the direction of his third-rate apartment. But the walk gave him time to reflect once more on his situation, particularly on what he had just said to Jacob in the car. He said he was happy where he was--that he liked the way things were going right now. But how much truth was there in that statement? Was this really better than terrorizing the populace, stealing riches, and inflicting torment through the use of extreme, tyrannical power? As Negaduck, he was someone. He was someone everyone knew and feared. He had a reputation, and just his name alone was enough to give badly behaved children nightmares.
But Negaduck was also another person--someone whom no one had seen. He was a duck masking his own fears and pain by bringing it out of others. Hidden beneath the dark abyss of the black mask he wore was a wounded mallard, unable to cope with his own demons. Buried inside was the mallard he had fought so long to keep hidden from the rest of the world. And himself.
This experiment was bringing out that mallard again. But it was also providing Drake with the opportunity to start over--to give the name he was born with a new identity, a new beginning. And while it was proving to be a difficult transition, he was never one to deny himself a challenge, villain or not. And he had to admit that it was a welcome change to not have to constantly glance over his shoulder in search of the police or Darkwing Duck.
And the mere fact that he was pulling the wool over his do-gooder double's eyes was reason enough for Drake to smile. Perhaps this new life wouldn't be so bad. He was beginning to mull over the positives to come, he passed by an alley, and was suddenly pounced from the side. A black gloved hand clamped over his bill, and Drake instantly began to pull up a ferocious fight. He snarled viciously, as the shadowy figure dressed in black began to drag him into a more secluded area beside the shabby apartment building.
But inside the apartment building, Agent Terry was inside SHUSH's surveillance rooms on his watch shift, sitting in front of the security cameras that viewed the surrounding areas of the building. He was about to take a sip from his coffee mug when one of the screens switched to an angle facing the mouth of the alley. He did a double take when he saw Drake being jumped and forcefully being pulled away. Quickly, the agent jumped to his feet and darted out of the room.
Drake growled and used his fingers to claw at the black sleeves of his aggressor. There was a black ski mask covering the man's entire face, making it impossible to determine his identity. Finally, Drake managed to pull his bill free and roared defiantly. "Let me go, you ill-fated idiot! I'm gonna rip your arm off and beat you over the head with it!"
"Hey!"
Both Drake and his captor turned their heads to see Agent Terry appear outside the alley with his gun drawn. "Put your hands in the air!"
It looked as if the mysterious man was about to comply with the demand as he let go of Drake with one hand. But this was only so he could reached toward the pocket of his black coat. In a quick motion, he raised a gun in his hand.
BLAM!!
Drake's eyes went wide as he saw the SHUSH agent flail backward. His body hit the hard sidewalk and the gun skidded across the pavement from his unmoving fingers. A shocked gasp escaped Drake's throat and his blue eyes were wide with disbelief. But before he could utter a word, the blunt end of the gun's handle came down on the back of his head. His eyes snapped shut, and everything went dark as his body went lax in the other man's arm.
The dark clothed man gingerly set the unconscious ex-con down on the ground. His eerie colored eyes immediately fell upon the electronic monitoring bracelet around Drake's ankle, and then he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a plier-like cutting device. With it, he effortlessly snipped the metal ring and watched it clink to the hard ground. Then he scooped up Drake's body in his arms and discretely made his leave before people flocked to the dead body of the dead agent on the sidewalk.