Part 15 - After the Hospital Stay, A Day at the Pistol Range

Thoroughly annoyed with her performance, Christie tried to empty her mind of everything except the task at hand. Okay, so she was still pissed off about spending yesterday and last night at the hospital. That had totally sucked. When she hadn't been pestered by nurses, she'd been interrogated by the investigating detectives - again and again. Why didn't the blasted police force have any female detectives? And just when she thought THAT was over? The top criminal and civil attorneys from Mom's law office had shown up to ensure the detectives had all the evidence needed for bulletproof cases. Boy, hadn't the detectives liked that little intrusion into their investigation. Eh, not so much.

Damn good thing she wasn't some stuck on herself diva-princess - that photo session to document ALL her injuries had been, well, not her best look. At least one good thing came of it all. After questioning her, the lawyers and detectives made sure the doctors had gotten tissue samples from under Valerie's fingernails. Mom had 'listened' in on that exchange. Skin tissue and eye cornea tissue corresponding to a certain asshole's facial injuries. Christie didn't need to guess what the DNA testing would reveal.

And darn it! She was here at the pistol range to try to put all that crap behind her! Focus, Christie, she told herself. Get your head in the game, girl; you're playing with live ammunition here!

Taking a deep breath, Christie centered herself and refocused on her shooting mechanics. She paid meticulous and excessive attention to every detail as she reloaded her four P 95 pistol magazines. She'd arrived at the range intending to complete a standard short form National Match Course, so her original magazine loads had been based on those requirements. However, that intention had not survived long enough for her to complete the
initial slow fire string of the course.

She hadn't really missed - all of her shots had been 'in the black,' scoring eight to ten points each. She'd shot 87 of a possible 100, but that was significantly below her typical slow-fire performance of 94 to 97. Clearly, something in her mechanics was out of sync, so she would go 'back to the basics.'

Her Mother had seen a problem before Christie had completed the first string. Of course she had, and as was their habit, when Christie's shooting mechanics were off, Amanda moved in to serve as her daughter's shooting coach and spotter. Amanda had made Christie go through her setup and firing procedures step by step. They worked together over the next half hour, correcting any minor errors in Christie's stance, grip, breathing, and other 'little things.' Over and over again until they were both satisfied that Christie had it right. Finally, Amanda had given Christie the go-ahead to try the short form, 30-shot-match all the way through. Christie had scored 279 out of a possible 300, an excellent score for most shooters but not really up to Christie's usual standard and not what she expected of herself.

At this point, Amanda thought that it was time to call it a day and come back fresh another day. Maybe Christie was still not fully recovered from Tad's attack, but Christie was having none of that. She was sure that she'd be performing to her usual standards with 'just a little more time.' Finally, Amanda had agreed to four more magazines, but only four more. Then that would be it for the day. The look in her Mother's eyes told Christie that further negotiations would be fruitless and might well have negative results, so she had agreed. But she would fully load all four magazines with 15 rounds each to get every last bit of practice in.

For her part, Amanda was happy with her daughter's performance. After all, she'd been attacked, choked, seen her best friend seriously injured, fought for her life and been in the hospital in the last 24 hours. And she'd still shot expert! But Christie was her Mother's daughter, and 'good' just wasn't 'good enough.' Since this was her daughter's show, Amanda stepped back from her coaching position. Still, she remained close enough to observe Christie's mechanics and adherence to standard range safety procedures.

Mentally, Amanda checked off each step as Christie slid the first loaded magazine into her pistol and chambered a round while keeping the gun pointed downrange. Christie clicked off the safety and brought her weapon up to firing position. Amanda watched her girl's exaggeratedly precise inhale/half exhale and waited. . .

Christie shrieked just as the Ruger fired!

Christie's off-hand swung sharply behind her and furiously swatted at her left buttock. Amanda was moving before she'd realized what she was doing. Reaching Christie, Amanda took the girl's gun hand by her wrist and ensured the unsafe weapon remained pointed downrange. "SAFE YOUR WEAPON!" She ordered loudly enough to be heard through her daughter's ear protectors, then saw that Christie had already clicked on the pistol's safety switch. Amanda then pulled off her daughter's ear protectors and ordered Christie to unload her weapon and step back from the firing line.

Christie placed the unloaded pistol, the magazine and the ejected round down on the table, shrieked and jumped again, swatting at her right buttock. "Mom, is there a bee back there? That HURTS!!"

Amanda saw nothing on her girl's bottom except Christie's tightly fitting yoga pants Amanda had brought from home to check out the hospital. The seat of her daughter's pants was smooth and spotless, nor had Amanda seen any insects in the indoor facility. "I'll clean up and secure your shooting station and weapon. Run inside to the ladies' room and check yourself out. I'll be in as soon as I've cleared everything with the range safety monitor."

~-~

Christie was literally seething in frustration in the fire range's cramped unisex bathroom. She tried to contort herself to see at her own butt with her pants and panties down around her ankles. Admittedly, frustration was not that uncommon an experience for the teen. Not since the day she'd awakened as Christie and not Charlie. Sometimes, it just seemed that life as a female was fraught with that emotion. Bras, boys and periods were just the tips of the iceberg. What else was there? Oh, yeah, she could count the ways! Eight years of 'lost' training, a constantly shifting center of balance, ill-defined yet looming trial 'lessons,' and intermittent and rarely controllable precognitive episodes about covered it! Things kept piling on in her life, and yeah, it was damned frustrating at times! Could some cosmic referee at least throw a yellow penalty flag once in a while?!?

The cursed sink mirror in this phonebooth-sized washroom was mounted so high on the wall that Christie had to stand on tip-toe to see her entire head in the darn thing! Oh, but wait, there's more! She couldn't get far enough from the sink to see her butt - even her body pressed flat against the room's back wall!

And her butt HURT! A LOT!! She felt like both butt cheeks had been hit by Bee-52 using a ten-penny nail gun for a stinger. Not that she could FEEL any sting-welts nor see any blood.

She'd just decided to risk a climb up and onto the sink so she could stick the offending body part right up against that damned mirror when a sharp knock echoed from the bathroom door. "Christie? It's Mom. Let me in, please," Amanda called from outside the bathroom.

Feeling ridiculously cheered by her Mother's presence, Christie minced over to the door - her pants and panties still hobbling her - and stood out of the sightline for anyone outside. Quickly, she unlocked the door and admitted her Mom. Amanda hurried in and then promptly shut and locked the door.

And stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her frazzled and overwrought daughter. Deeply ingrained survival instincts had Amanda swallowing several clever quips and observations that might just have detonated Christie's obviously hair-trigger temper. She decided to just ask, "How are you, honey?"

Which completely shattered the tenuous hold Christie had managed on her emotions so far. The girl rush-hopped to her Mom, wrapped the older woman in her arms, and began to cry. No, actually, she began to wail! Between sobs, she poured out an almost incoherent litany of complaints. Amanda tried to keep up with Christie's torrent of rage and indignities. These included her sore bottom, this tiny and useless bathroom, the too-high to-use mirror, and having to be a darned girl! There were other issues in that flood, but Amanda probably only got half of them.

Which left Amanda at a loss on how to proceed. This was a motherhood challenge she had never experienced before. Charlie and then Christie had never broken down like this - not in either timeline. What the hell was she supposed to do, damn it? She WAS the MOTHER! Fixing stuff like this was her job!

Only she didn't have a clue what to do next! Finally, she just improvised. At first, all she could think of to do was hold on tightly to the shaking girl, murmur a few 'there-theres,' pat her daughter's back and pray for further inspiration. When she caught something that sounded like 'both cheeks still really hurt, darn it,' Amanda pounced! Taking advantage of her daughter's physical proximity, Amanda employed her healer talents. She scanned the girl for tissue damage or toxic trauma.

And got nothing. No evidence of any tissue damage. No taint of any insect stinger venom. She could not even detect any abnormal synaptic nerve activity. That was very puzzling; the pain receptor nerves in Christie's bottom should have been in extreme distress, given her daughter's evident pain. According to Amanda's senses, nothing was wrong, and her daughter shouldn't be in pain. Amanda let her hands slip down to her daughter's buttocks and attempted a 'hands-on' general healing spell. She didn't have any better idea what more to do, but once again, she got nothing.

Because there wasn't anything physically wrong down there to heal, and all Amanda could think was, "Well, NOW what do I do?"

Fortunately, Christie had started to cry herself out and was beginning to calm down. Relieved, Amanda held on as her daughter slowly gathered herself. With one final sniffle, Christie straightened up and stepped back. Nearly falling, she started to pull up her pants only to be stopped by Amanda. "Let me do a visual and manual examination of where you are feeling the pain, honey."

Which proved to be no more informative than her previous, magically-assisted efforts. "I can't see or feel anything - just smooth, unblemished skin with no signs of welts, swelling or inflammation. I can't find any evidence of a sting site. Let's see what happens when I do this . . .," and Amanda began probing the muscles beneath the shapely globes of Christie's bottom with her fingers.

"That doesn't make it hurt worse?" She asked, surprised when her daughter didn't flinch or otherwise react to the firm pressures.

Christie looked over her shoulder at her Mom and shook her head. "It doesn't. I can feel your finger pressing into the muscle, but while the pain is still there, it doesn't change no matter where you touch it or how hard. It's like . . . it's like they are two completely unrelated sensations. I don't know quite how to describe it. Maybe the pain is like the bass line in a piece of music being played too loudly. It's just there, but your touches are like the tenor line with no dissidence between them when you press. I can hear both . . . I'm not telling this well . ."

"I understand, and I could feel your sensory nerves reacting when I probed you with my fingers using my healer talent. Only I couldn't discern anything from that bass line with my talent to carry your analogy a little further. Do you think you can drive us home, or should I do it?"

"I'd better not," Christie replied as she carefully pulled up her pants. "I sort of have the pain under control for the moment, but I don't know if that will last. I don't want to be driving if the sting suddenly comes back on me like it did at the firing line."

"Okay. I've locked up our weapons and ammunition in a range locker for now. Let's go home and then I'm gonna call your grandmother. I might even ask her to come to visit so she can examine you. Maybe she'll have a better idea of what might be going on."

~-~

It wasn't until after dinner that Amanda was able to contact her Mother - a meal that her daughter ate standing at the breakfast bar. Amanda had finally cast a mild sleep spell on the girl, who had promptly gone up to bed. Except for sleeping on her tummy, Christie showed no sign she felt any pain. Another little spell had slid some pillows under the girl to relieve any pressure on Christie's bosom. Thankfully, she'd been sleeping quietly for about forty-five minutes, so Amanda had felt safe to slip out and call her own Mother.

But not before casting the 'baby monitor spell' she hadn't used since Charlie (or Christie in this timeline) had been two years old.

Amanda spent the first few minutes explaining what had happened and what little she knew about what was causing her daughter's distress. "Mom, I've tried every healing and diagnostic spell I know. I simply cannot find a natural cause for what ails her. Moreover, I can't think of nor find a supernatural cause for it either. I'm at the limits of my knowledge. I was hoping you had an idea or suggestion of something to try or, failing that, maybe come visit and see if you perceive something I haven't?"

"Well, I'm not nearly as strong at the healing arts as you are, dear, and I really have no clue what might be the issue here. However, I have our family library of journals here, and some of our forebears were powerful healers. I'll do a scan of those books tonight. I'll call you if I find anything. Failing that, I'll bring the books to you tomorrow so you can have a look, too. Something I might pass over might click with you since you are up close and personal with Christie's problem right now."

"Thanks, Mom. I'm at my wit's end here. At least she seems to be resting comfortably and sleeping deeply. I've got your old baby monitor on her, so I'll know right away if something changes."

Rebekah chuckled at that. "I'd all but forgotten that old spell. Good thing you remembered it, or you'd be up all night fretting about her." The two women laughed at that, easing some of the tension both felt. "Now, Amanda, tell me how YOU are."

Caught unprepared by Rebekah's motherly dart, Amanda hesitated, nearly stuttering as she tried to come up with an acceptable response. That was all the response Rebekah needed - she pounced. "Amanda?! What. Is. Wrong?"

Sighing, Amanda replied, "Well, if you must know, I felt pretty useless today. My child was in pain, and NOTHING I did helped her. And, oh my god, when she broke down on me in the bathroom? I was dumbfounded. I didn't know what to do! Mom, Charlie or Christie, either one - she's never done that before. I just stood there, patting her back and mumbling meaningless, hopefully, soothing sounds while my child completely melted down! She was the one who got it out and started pulling herself together. I might as well have not even been there for all the good I did her. I STILL don't know what I should have or could have done."

"Hmmm," Rebekah interposed if only to stop her daughter's self-recriminations. "Okay, let me see if I have this straight. Neither one of your children, in your memory, has ever had an emotional episode like this before. Correct?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"QUIET! Mother is talking. So, to continue. You didn't know what to do for Christie. Well, welcome to the Mom Club, girl! You somehow missed that step in our initiation, and guess what? Life caught up with you."

"I never . . . You never had to . . ."

"HA! Think again, daughter. Remember waking up with bloody sheets and bad nausea when you were eleven? You started menarche earlier than I had anticipated, so we had only just begun our birds and the bees lessons. YOU MELTED DOWN, and there I was, feeling dumb, ill-prepared and like a bad Mom. It happens to the best of us, Amanda. You just got a lot further down the motherhood road than I did or most other moms do before you got that hit."

"But, you knew just what to do and how to help . . ."

"That's not how I remember it, baby girl! Oh, I knew what to do once you started calming down, but for about five minutes, all I did was hold you and let you yell at me, all the while feeling like a failure. It was the only time I even thought about regretting becoming a woman full time."

"Really, Mom?" And it was a distinctly childlike voice that asked.

"Really, Amanda. I'm just surprised your alternative timeline Christie-memories don't include something like this in her past."

"Nope, nothing. Not in my Charlie memories, either."

There were moments of silence as Rebekah considered what her daughter had just revealed. "Interesting. You know, I have an idea . . . Remember, dear, you only spent a year as a guy. On the other hand, Charlie AND I spent the first sixteen years of our lives as guys. I might hazard the guess that Christie has still been doing the whole stoic male thing when she deals with the little challenges and adversities that come with being a teenage girl. When I first changed, I did it, but I broke down halfway through my year and had a good old-fashioned crying hissy fit over something I DON'T need to tell you about."

"Aw, Mom . . ." Amanda teased back.

"ANYway, part of the reason for this trial, particularly the sex change, is to impart lessons any sorcerer needs to learn. Unlike me, Christie had the discipline and pure pig-headed stubbornness not to give in and let have herself a good cry or two to relieve the pressure of her situation. Ever. I don't know for sure, but emotions are a big part of the feminine experience, much more so than for males."

"So, this is something Christie needed to experience?"

"It's as good an answer as any other I can think of. Well, let me get to my library so I can see what there is to see. I'll call you if I find anything promising. Either way, I'll call you tomorrow for a status report and to plan my visit if I need to come down there. Okay?"

"Okay, Mom. Thanks."

"Go to bed, honey. You need rest, too, and you know the monitor spell will wake you if you're needed."

"G'night, Mom. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Good night, dear."

~-~