Chemystery, by Karin Bishop

Part 5

June 21: Evening

Mom came home about twenty minutes after I’d gotten back. I’d unpacked the things from Jenny, shaking out any wrinkles. I saw that she’d tossed the barrette in along with the brush and a little sampler of makeup she’d probably gotten at a department store as a freebie. I teared up at her thoughtfulness.

I sent an email to Craig, not anonymously. I wrote, ‘Tommy’s in the hospital; I think he’s been beaten up.’ I was pretty sure it was his brother but didn’t want to commit until I knew. ‘I’m going there tonight to find out as much as I can. The doctors will run tests and the cat is going to be out of the bag, so M.R. probably don’t apply anymore. I’m telling Mom tonight. Email me back with details so we can talk on phone, what number, how late, whatever. It might be really, really late, or tomorrow morning. But things are definitely heating up.’ I added a postscript, leaving out anything about Jenny. ‘I just now thought about shooting photos of myself; I could kick myself for not doing it sooner. I hope you’ve been photo-documenting yourself all along.’

Mom arrived and as soon as she’d gotten her things put down, I braced her. I’d been thinking about how to do it and I knew the only way was full and immediate disclosure.

“Mom, are you hungry?” I said after hello.

“Not particularly. We had a late lunch. You can eat if you’d like, and I’ll just fix something for myself later.” She looked at me oddly. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

“My voice?” I remembered that Jenny had said something about it.

“It sounds kind of …” She shrugged. “Different somehow. Ah, well …I haven’t talked to you in a couple of days,” she smiled. “Maybe I just forgot what you sound like, or you’re coming down with something.”

I thought, she has no idea! “Mom, I have some very, very important things to discuss with you, and I think this is a three-pipe problem,” I said, using an old Sherlock Holmes saying. She’d introduced me to Holmes two years ago and I loved the stories.

“A three-piper, huh?” she grinned. “A pot of Earl Grey, then.”

She went to prepare the tea and I had to stop myself from pacing. I was still gathering my thoughts. When we were at the kitchen table with two steaming cups in front of us, I began.

“Mom, have you looked at me lately? Really looked at me? Have you noticed anything?”

She tilted her head. “Well, your hair needs a trim …and, I don’t know, maybe you could start exercising more. You’re looking kind of …” Her voice trailed off. At some point her brain had kicked in and went from the casual observance to, as I’d requested, really looking at me. “Oh, my …” she said.

“I have a lot to tell you, and it begins in April. Please don’t …well, it’ll go faster if you don’t interrupt. Oh, here,” I said and slid a notepad and pen to her; I’d just thought of it while she’d prepared the tea. “You might want to make notes or jot down questions.”

She frowned, seeing how serious I was. So I dove in, as I had with Mrs. Donohue and Jenny. I was really glad I’d had the practice of telling the tale twice. I went from Craig’s first idea to the Donohue family racing to the hospital. I had printed out my email exchanges with Craig, and some of the things we’d found on Intellia and Black Hats, and gave them over to read after I was done talking. God bless her, Mom didn’t interrupt. Several times she frowned and opened her mouth to speak but closed it and scribbled instead. When I finished, she looked directly at me, saying nothing, then nodded.

“I think now is the moment we knew had to come, honey.”

I nodded, too, and leaned back to unbutton my shirt. I kept it closed until it was completely unbuttoned, looked her in the eye, took a deep breath, and let the shirt fall around my shoulders.

Mom couldn’t help the reflexive gasp at the sight of my breasts. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide, and then she nodded.

“Honey,” she said, choosing her words slowly as she went. “I think …you should …put on the things that Jenny loaned you. I’m going to sit here and read my notes and think and …” She blew out a breath and grinned weakly. “Definitely a three-pipe problem!”

I was slightly trembling as I dressed in my bedroom. It was a very simple procedure, actually, and it felt comfortable and it felt proper and it felt so right, somehow. I stripped completely naked; it just felt better starting from skin out. Then I remembered Jenny’s comment about documenting again when I got home so I grabbed my digital camera and a hand mirror and …quickly documented myself. I even used a ruler! Then I stepped into the panties, tucking my little boy-bit, pulled on my bra and smiled at the nice support. I pulled the camisole over the mounds of my breasts again, then pulled up the skirt and sat to buckle the sandals.

The thought occurred to me that what I was just doing, getting dressed in these types of clothes, was how I’d always be dressing in the near future. I leaned over and brushed my hair out, then quickly brushed it into place as Jenny had and used the barrette. I decided to forego the makeup, then decided just a bit of lipgloss was needed. I took my deepest breath of all and went to show Mrs. Hanson what her daughter looked like.

She stared and then nodded. “It all fits,” she said calmly.

I turned side to side, looking down at my clothes. “Well, Jenny and I turned out to be the same size.”

Mom chuckled. “No, sweetheart; I didn’t mean the clothes. Although they do fit you nicely and it’s a perfect look for you.” Her face clouded for a moment. “Perfectly normal look for you, now, I suppose. No, what I meant was …well, you’ve been a little …secretive the last few weeks. And that’s normal for teenage boys.”

Realizing that she meant boys and masturbation, I blushed. “I’m not …I haven’t been …”

Mom waved a hand. “No, no; I just mean at first I didn’t pay close attention. But then when you came to me tonight, before you started telling me what’s been happening. That’s when I noticed that things didn’t quite …fit. Your voice, for instance.”

“Jenny said something about my voice, too. What’s wrong with it?”

She smiled. “It’s probably been so gradual you haven’t noticed. But your voice is …” She tilted her head and frowned slightly. “It’s higher but not higher, and it’s thinner but not thinner. It’s also not younger …” She shook her head. ‘That’s a lot of things it isn’t. I’d have to simply say that it’s become a girl’s voice. Before I might have said that you sounded like you did a few years ago, but that’s not quite right. I think what’s happening, keeping in line with the theories you and Craig have come up with, is that your larynx has been altered by the …girl-bomb. And that’s a funny name but pretty accurate, like a bug-bomb.”

“Yeah, that’s what Craig was thinking about the name. Um …so I sound like a girl? I’m not trying to.”

“Well, your speech pattern isn’t like a girl’s …yet, but that’s a cultural thing.” Her eyes widened and she sat up a little. “My God, that explains a lot …”

“What does?”

“Well, the other thing that didn’t fit and does now is how you move. Everything, the way you walk, the way you hold your things, the way you move your hands. It might be considered effeminate but that’s not quite right, either. See, effeminate should probably apply to a …let’s just say ‘typical’ instead of ‘normal’, okay? Anyway, a typical male trying to seem like a girl will have a certain walk and gestures, but they’re approximations of feminine movements. They’re a …mimicry. Without what you’re looking like now, the way your body has already changed, if you walked and gestured like that you’d seem effeminate. But you don’t. It’s not mimicry, it’s not an approximation. You have a feminine walk and gestures because you are feminine, you are a girl …or at least pretty far on your way there.”

“That makes sense, I guess. I’m not trying to do anything, like I said.” I shrugged. “I just walked, that’s all. But you said a ‘cultural thing’ …”

Mom nodded again. “Girls have a lifetime of being girls to pick up things unconsciously.” She grinned. “Or in response to their mothers harping on them. Just thinking about my own girlhood …” A memory brought a chuckle. “You don’t have that, but you’ll pick it up quickly. For instance, you wear that skirt beautifully. You look very cute in it, very normal and regular and all that. You walk perfectly for a girl in a skirt; I’m guessing that your pelvis and bone structure is becoming more like a girl’s so that makes sense. But when you sat in your skirt, you sat in your skirt. No girl does that; she automatically reaches back with a hand and smoothes the skirt forward as she sits so it doesn’t bunch up under her. I said ‘automatically’, because it’s learned behavior, from her mother telling her to do that and all the other girls around her doing the same thing. And it would be the same with a mother telling her daughter, ‘keep your knees together so the boys can’t see your panties’ and things like that.”

“Learned behavior,” I thought about it; it made perfect sense but was worrying. “So I can learn these things, but will they take years to learn?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Mothers constantly remind their little girls because they’re little. Everything takes repetition, like how to go potty properly and on up. The learning curve is long because they’re just growing kids. It’s different now that you’re older; you’re still growing, of course, but your thinking is more mature. For instance, I probably won’t need to remind you more than a couple of times about keeping your knees together or sweeping your skirt when you sit.”

“I think I’ll remember.”

“Because you’re older,” she nodded. “So your cultural girl lessons will be picked up very quickly, and naturally, too, I’ll bet. Because you’re already …” She did the head-tilt thing again. “You’re already a naturally feminine and very pretty girl, and you’re still …evolving.”

“Weird way to think of it–evolving …morphing, maybe …” I trailed off and frowned. “Mom, Jenny’s theory about my DNA being changed or reset …” I wasn’t sure how I was going to put it.

“You mean, that you’re becoming the girl that you would have been, almost like an alternate time-track?”

That startled me–me, the science-fiction reader! “I like that! Yeah, in my girl-track.”

“Don’t say ‘yeah’, sweetheart; girls say ‘yes’,” she said with a twinkle.

“Sorry! So, you’ll teach me? All the girl stuff?”

She grinned. “We’ll have to work on your girl vocabulary, too. We don’t say ‘stuff’ as much as boys do. But, yes, of course I’ll teach you. It’s a mother’s job to teach her daughter!”

I found myself rushing to hug her; she enfolded me in an embrace and kissed the top of my head. “Mom, you believe me, then?”

“How can I not believe you, my darling daughter?”

I pulled back from the hug. “Two things, one quick and the other not so much. The first thing is, did you have a girl’s name picked out for me if I’d been born a girl?”

She smiled with some sadness. “Yes. And a funny thing, too, because …well, the one thing we decided on was that the word Christ would be in your name. Your father was …” She trailed off.

I knew she didn’t like talking about my father. At the start of this journal I wrote about him being a salesman now and having been in a supermarket. When I wrote that, I was just getting started, and still kind of embarrassed about writing things down. And that pales in comparison to what I’ve had to write down, so it’s time to document the truth about my father.

He’d been a butcher at a local supermarket and became a Born-Again Christian, leading a worship service and quitting the market and becoming a lay minister. Mom was an old-fashioned Christian, the type that didn’t need to shout hourly about her faith. She said she didn’t have to, she just knew. But then my father was caught fooling around with one of his ‘flock’ …then another woman was discovered and maybe more and he resigned and divorced in disgrace. I think Mom was more angry about his hypocrisy than his unfaithfulness.

Mom picked up the thread. “Your father wanted Christ in your name. I just wanted faith in your soul, so I went along. Nothing wrong with it. But I did put my foot down on his first choice–Christian. I thought that was just …too much over the top. It’s a fine name, but with him it was a billboard. So we settled on Christopher, a saint’s name that satisfied him. Well, former saint, but that’s neither here nor there.” She smiled at me. “And if a girl? Christina. I am not making this up.” She held a hand up like an oath. “So you would have been Christina, or Chris, or Christy, or Chrissie–thank you, Jenny–or even Tina. Strange how it works out, huh?”

I hugged her again. “So you don’t have a problem with Chrissie?”

“None at all, my sweet Chrissie. Although I might call you Chris every so often.”

“That’s okay. I’ll know that you mean it as Christina, not Christopher.” I squeezed her and broke the hug. “The second thing is, I want to go to the hospital and find out about Tommy.”

She nodded. “While you were getting changed I made some calls. First of all, I called around and we’re in luck; he’s in St. Joe’s.” That’s where Mom works. “His condition is stable and he’s conscious–or he was when I called. So if we have a chance to see him, we’ve got to hurry.”

“Oh! Yeah. Okay,” I said, feeling the urgency. “Let’s go, can we? Please?”

Mom pursed her lips. “Yes, we can, but …” She looked at me and tilted her head, that thing she always did. “Honey, I know you just got changed, and you’re so pretty and I know–I know–that you’re going to be dressing like this from now on, but just now, for tonight–”

“I better change back. You’re right; this would only cause more problems with Tommy’s dad.”

I quickly went back to my room and regretfully changed everything, furiously brushing my hair back into the ponytail and rubbing off the gloss and putting on the boy clothes that I’d so happily gotten out of–only half an hour ago. On the way out of the house I grabbed the printout from our emails, just in case. And they just might be needed, because Mom told me that she’d made ‘some calls’, and one of them was to Dr. Paulson who was going to meet us at the hospital.

June 21: Night

We got to St. Joseph’s quickly because there was so little traffic. St. Joe’s is a big rambling old hospital, more St. Elsewhere than ER, Mom says. I have to take her word for that; I’d never seen those old shows. Anyway, it is a really good hospital and is the main trauma center in this part of the state, so a lot of times you hear on the news about injured people ‘being airlifted to St. Joseph’s’ and sure enough, even as we parked, a helicopter was coming in to land on the fenced area on the side of Emergency.

Since Mom worked there, we moved quickly through while she greeted people left and right, and she came to a nurse I knew from occasional meetings, Nurse Rawlings.

“Nancy, hi, what’s the news on Tommy Donohue?”

The nurse looked pretty grim. “Pretty rough. He’s been cut up and beaten badly, not something we don’t see on weekends, but he hasn’t been in a bar fight. I don’t know everything but,” she sighed, switching to her professional voice, “multiple contusions and lacerations, left jaw fracture and possible left orbital socket fracture. The main thing was the cut at the groin. He lost a lot of blood and it was touch and go there for awhile. Defensive wounds on both hands.”

“De …defensive wounds?” I asked, my voice strangled with grief.

Nurse Rawlings said, “Often when a victim has been knifed, they fight their attacker and get cuts on their hands. Whoever did this had it in for the kid; there are some other lacerations that are just rage.”

“What about the groin wound?” Mom asked.

“Apparently whoever did the beating …” She broke off and looked at me.

Mom said, “You can say anything, Nancy; please speak freely.”

The nurse nodded. “It looks like the victim was nearly castrated. He’d probably twisted this way and that to avoid the knife but got multiple lacerations all around the pelvis.”

“And his penis?” I asked.

Nurse Rawlings gave me a compassionate look. “Don’t know. I’ll get an update soon. You two look …you look like you know more about this than I do.” Her eyes searched our faces, back and forth.

Just then we were approached by Dr. Paulson. I’ve already written that he’s been my doctor like forever, and he’s a good guy. As he’s gotten older, he’s looking more and more like a TV version of a doctor with silver in his hair and a fine, deep voice.

“Ruth, Christopher, hi. Nancy,” he nodded.

She nodded and smiled at us and turned back to her duties.

Dr. Paulson said, “Now, what’s so important that you pulled me away from Dancing With The Stars?”

It was the kind of light-hearted thing he’d say. I don’t know if he watched it or not and I don’t think tonight was even one of the nights the show was on. It was just a fun thing to say.

Mom looked at me and said, “There’s a very serious …tale we have to tell you and time is of the essence. That’s such a cliché, but it’s true. And it also involves two friends of Chris, including Tommy Donohue, who was just admitted after being knifed and beaten by his brother.”

His light manner vanished. “Is he still in Emergency?” We shrugged and he turned to the Nurses Station. “Nancy? Could you give me an update on Tommy Donohue and I think Jack Warren is his Primary. Thanks.” He turned back to me and said, “Fancy a pee?”

He’d said that to me for years; it used to make me chuckle. I knew it meant he wanted a urine specimen.

“Yes, Doctor,” I said, seriously. “And you should draw blood–”

“I was going to,” he smiled.

“And however you check DNA. Is that the cheek swab thing?”

“One way, yes,” he said, frowning. “Are you …are you taking something, Chris?”

I made a face. “Taking, no. Given, yes. That’s what we need to find out and fast. It’s not poison, but …”

“But time is of the essence,” Mom finished for me.

They gave me a cup and I went in the little toilet, filled the thing, came out and sat for the blood and DNA swabbing. Dr. Paulson had told me that they actually can get DNA from blood and urine as well as saliva, hair, and so on, and he was going to have all three samples run because whatever I was worried about was genetic. I know he has a lot of respect for Mom and so he didn’t treat me like a strange kid.

We were back at the Nurses Station, the tests on their way to the lab. Dr. Paulson was studying a chart, frowning. I figured it was Tommy’s chart. Before we said anything there was a shout behind us.

“You!”

We turned–and everyone else–and Mr. Donohue was red-faced and pointing at me.

He yelled, “You’ve done this to my Tommy! You’ve turned him into a fairy! This is all your fault!”

Mrs. Donohue was next to him, tugging on his sleeve and frantically hushing him to no effect.

He took two steps towards me. “What have you done to him? What have you done? He trusted you! And you turned him into a faggot just like you are! My God, look at you! You’re more girl than boy! But you had to do it to my Tommy, didn’t you? All of you–”

Slap!

Mrs. Donohue had stepped in front of him and slapped him so hard his head turned sideways and the crack of the slap seemed to bounce off the hospital walls.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” she cried. “For God’s sake, Mickey, shut up! You have no idea what you’re talking about, just lies and filth from your own dirty mind. You’re blaming poor Chris here for what you did to Tommy. Your hate and your ignorance have poisoned our children for too long, and Patrick acted on it. Sure, he took a knife to his own brother, but it was you that guided his hand!”

“Catherine, you …No, that’s not it …”

“Yes, that’s exactly it! When I married you, I fancied your bluster. You were the big strong man that could protect me and my family. But I’ve watched you get smaller and smaller with your meanness and it’s nearly cost me my children. Enough!”

“Catherine, I …”

“Shut up, I said! Now, and until you’re told to speak!”

As shocked as I was, I couldn’t help but have a huge boost in my estimation of Mrs. Donohue. She was no longer the meek and mild dutiful ‘little woman’. She was on fire!

Security arrived and she stepped forward to tell them everything was under control. A doctor came out in scrubs, and Dr. Paulson said, “That’s Tommy’s doctor, Jack Warren. He’s a good man. Jack! One minute?” He indicated the two of us to the doctor, who veered over.

“Hank,” he nodded. “What’s up? Don’t have time; I’ve got to talk to the family.”

“You might want to let them cool down a bit. Listen, this is Christopher Hanson, a long-time patient. I haven’t heard his story yet but I think we both need to be present because it bears directly on your patient Tommy Donohue.”

“There are some …anomalies,” Dr. Warren said, looking at me. “And you can shed some light?”

“Yes, sir,” I said with a firm nod. “And also the probable reason for the attack on Tommy. There were three of us–”

Dr. Warren frowned, confused. “Three of you in the attack?”

“No, no; I think that was his brother. No, there were three of us affected. In-fected,” I said.

Dr. Paulson said, “Three? You didn’t tell me that, Chris.”

“Yes, the other is Craig Wesson, a friend of ours. The three of us hang out together. Well, we did, but he moved away. His dad got transferred, but we keep in touch.”

Dr. Paulson nodded. “I know Craig quite well. I was also his doctor until they moved.”

“Really?” I said, brightening. “Could you …do you know his new doctor?”

“I know the doctor I recommended and transferred files to. Don’t know if they’ve met her yet; it’s only been a couple of months. They should like her, but they might even have switched to somebody else.”

“Dr. Paulson, could you contact his doctor? Craig’s new doctor, I mean? Because if she’s seen him, we can have some …what’s that word …”

Mom said, “Corroboration?”

“Yes, thanks! We can have corroboration of what I’ve got to tell you. I know there’s a time-zone difference, but it’s really important that you talk to her.”

Dr. Paulson frowned slightly. “I can try, but we’re going to run into patient confidentiality problems.”

“If I call Craig and get his family to okay it?”

He stared at me. “It’s really this important? And this urgent?”

“Yes, sir. And especially for Tommy.”

He held his look on me a little longer and then nodded and looked at the other doctor. “Jack, go update the Donohues. I’m going to my office and make the calls young Chris is demanding.”

“I’m not demanding, Dr. Paulson,” I said apologetically.

“I am,” Mom said. “Hank, this is important and especially for your patient, Dr. Warren.”

Both doctors nodded and went off in two separate directions.

Mom hugged me with one arm. “I’m so sorry you had to hear those hateful things,” she said.

“They were hateful, and totally wrong, but he did say one true thing. I guess I am more girl than boy.”

She leaned down to my ear. “And a very pretty girl, too.” She quickly kissed my cheek.

We watched Dr. Warren talk to the Donohues, who listened. Mrs. Donohue nodded but Mr. Donohue was frozen like a statue. I noticed that Mrs. Donohue asked the questions. After the doctor shook hands with the stunned Mr. Donohue and slightly bowed to Mrs. Donohue, he came back to Mom and me.

“This is going to get a lot more complicated before it’s settled. I just updated them and also got Mrs. Donohue’s approval to talk about Tommy’s condition with you. Excuse me.” He leaned over to Nurse Rawlings. “Nancy, would you prepare a Confidentiality Disclosure Authorization for the Donohues over there? Patient Thomas Donohue. Thanks.”

Dr. Paulson came back with a very strange look on his face. “I just talked with Craig and his family. He was expecting something like my call because of an email you sent?” I nodded. “That was a good thing, so it didn’t take much time. They had a …very interesting story, too. Something tells me I’m going to hear it again. They’ve approved my talking with their doctor. They’ve just seen her yesterday so we have the full workup still fresh. And they’re faxing an authorization.”

Dr. Warren said, “I just got the Donohues to agree to the CDA for Tommy.”

Mom said, “We’ll sign whatever you need so all doctors of all parties can talk freely and fully.”

“Thanks, Ruth,” Dr. Paulson said, still frowning. “It was the oddest thing. The whole time I was talking to Craig …” He shook his head. “No matter. We’re going to go into a conference room and open up the phone. I think the Donohues should be present, too.”

“If he’s calmed down,” Mom said.

“I think Mrs. Donohue has control now,” I smiled.

“Too late for poor Tommy, though,” Mom said grimly.

End of Part 5