Identity

So I went back to roaming the estate when it got claustrophobic in the house. Dad did question this, but I pointed out that if the estate wasn't safe, why was I confined here? He didn't like my answer, but there was a lot that each of us didn't like about the other these days. And Mom had to go out of the country on a Justice League assignment, so I didn't even have her voice in support. She thought it was better for me to do something active rather than sit around and 'mope' as she put it. I had to keep refusing dates, and now nobody was asking anymore. I hadn't been able to truthfully explain why I couldn't go out, so I'd said that I was grounded indefinitely due to a fight. "That must have been a heck of a fight," Craig Benson said. It really broke my heart to have to turn him down, because I had a crush on him.

"I can't even talk to my dad these days without something flaring up," I said ruefully, and he'd said that was too bad. My other friends were starting to resume their activities, and Jinx's parents were considering going back to a more normal life. And I was stuck at home, school, or work. I was allowed to go back to rowing because the club building was a solid brick building, more secure, but the tennis club I could go to for indoor tennis was sort of an inflatable dome, very insecure. I couldn't go out for lunch or snacks at work anymore, either. I had to pack my lunch when I worked my full day on the weekend and bring snacks. The only time I was exposed to daylight for an extended period was when I was ambling around the estate. I was probably going to end up with a vitamin D deficiency.

I might not be happy, but I kept a lid on it at school; school was going well for me and I didn't want to mess that up in any way. Dad had made me talk to Dr Lance again, who validated my feelings but urged me to be patient and remember that this was for my protection. So.... not much help there, not that I'd expected much. Meanwhile, everybody else was getting on with their lives and I was stuck watching everything pass me by. Again. Things with John were strained too because nobody thought he was in danger and he got to go on dates, run around the city, work, whatever, and I resented it.

One afternoon, I was pushing through the snow on part of the northeast part of the estate I'd never spent much time on, because there wasn't anything out there. Or not much; there was a big clear place with two hut-type buildings and some markers. I investigated further and found boundaries in the ground, now somewhat pushed out of the ground at some points, misaligned in other places, in the form of a hemisphere, one boundary within another. In the huts I found matched gizmos that puzzled me, so I did an image search, and that was how I learned we had a skeet shooting range on the premises. The designs on the ground were the trap field, the gizmos were trap machines, and the huts were trap houses. The machines were old models, but tightly covered and well protected. I found instructions online and to my surprise they still worked. I located the position where the shooter would stand and found the device that a solo person could practice with by using voice commands. It was disconnected, but the parts were all in the trap houses. I took the time to do some research; it was a concentration sport, needing a lot of practice, as any sport does. The next day after school I went down to the bat cave; there was a top-flight simulator down there that could present almost any situation a person could think of. Getting it to simulate a skeet shooting range was a piece of cake and it taught me gun safety as a shotgun replica emerged from the 3D printer. The basics of skeet were easy enough to learn, it was putting them into practice and becoming proficient that was the hard part. Encouraged, I searched the attic. If there was a gun safe in the house, it would be up there.

And I found it, past the climate-controlled art storage and a bunch of rolled-up rugs that I'd missed somehow. It was locked, but the combination to the very old-fashioned safe was on the back page of a binder on top of the safe that detailed the contents of the safe. Sure enough, included were two double-barrelled shotguns "for skeet" as some very precise soul had noted. I carefully turned the dial, having to do it a few times after messing up, and quickly matched up each gun to the inventory. Everything was there, including ammunition for the rifles and shotgun shells and hearing protection. I took out a shotgun gingerly; it was heavier than the 3D printed model, of course, but had been put away clean and in good working order, as far as I could tell. I'd need to research how to take care of the weapons if I decided to actually try skeet. The next time I was in the bat cave after school, I took a shotgun down with me and the simulator talked me through the loading process (and I promptly unloaded it) and it had me mount a laser in the barrel so I could practice using the sights. I waffled for a few days, then decided to try the real thing.

I rebelled and stopped by a sporting goods store on the way home to pick up a gun-cleaning kit and a supply of clay targets that would be flung into the air for me to try to hit. The box was pretty heavy. It took awhile and a bit of fiddling to get the voice-activated trigger working, but I felt good that I was able to figure it out. Then I loaded the targets into the launcher and gave it a go.

Lots to learn. I hit one out of ten targets the first time.

I broke the shotgun open and put it over my arm as I ventured into the field to find the unbroken targets. They weren't horribly expensive, but there wasn't any point to wasting them. It was easy to find them in the snow; they were in one of two general areas depending on which device flung them, and it was random. I disengaged one device and set the other to work at only one angle until I got the hang of shooting; using both just frazzled me and I wanted to be calm and accurate. I brushed off the snow from the undamaged discs and reloaded before taking my position again. I was going to need more shells, too. There had only been thirty in the gun safe.

I was feeling good; I'd clipped three targets out of ten using just the one launcher. I heard noise behind me and turned quickly, relaxing when I saw it was Alfred. I broke the shotgun open again and walked forward. "I heard the sounds of gunfire," he said. "I was concerned." He looked around. "I had completely forgotten the skeet range was here."

"I just ran across it recently, took me some research to figure out what it was," I said. Alfred's eyebrows elevated a couple of millimeters.

"You're doing quite well for a beginner, Miss Lys," he said.

"I did some sims in the bat cave," I said. "Then I looked to see if we still had any shotguns around, found the gun safe in the attic. It gives me something to do." But I was about out of time for the day; the sun was lowering and there weren't any lights out here.

"I understand that you feel boxed in by recent events," he said, taking the shotgun from me as I turned to pick up the box of shells; I'd tidily put the empties back in the box as I shot to help with cleanup. Then I went to the launchers, unplugging them again and covering them back up, pushing the box of targets back on the little table so they wouldn't fall off.

"I'm only young now," I said, unable to keep all the bitterness out of my voice. "I can't count on a resurrection down the line. And life keeps passing me by."

"They're trying to keep you safe," he said quietly.

"And nobody's any closer to finding the Joker. For gods' sake, he's handicapped. There's a huge number of places that can be eliminated from searching just because they haven't been modified to make them accessible for those with disabilities. Chairs are the most common transportation because to use an exoskeleton, you still need a certain degree of independent movement, which he can't have; Grandma Alex is positive that she completely severed his spine. She didn't stop to check, though. He could use a house that hasn't been modified if he's willing to have a minion carry him around all the time, but somehow I don't think he'd be willing to cede that much control over his body to someone else, especially an inferior, according to the stories that Grandma tells about him. You can sort through the city building permits office to see what existing structures are accessible. True, modifications can be made without permits, but construction is loud and neighbors don't hesitate to report things like that because renovations that aren't done properly can be dangerous. He can't be in a standard apartment or condo building because he'd need a private access. And a city inspector has to check each building before a sale. If there's been unpermitted work, you can't sell it. It has to be torn out and redone by a qualified professional, licensed with the city, the work permitted and inspected. Cuts down on shoddy workmanship and trouble down the road."

Alfred listened intently. That was novel, these days, an adult really listening to what I had to say. "These are excellent points," he said. "How do you know that about the city building office?"

"The cave," I said. "The computer was able to eliminate about two-thirds of the buildings in the city right off the bat, although there is a little room for error."

"I am unsure how the police are searching, but I will notify Master Dick with this information," he said. "No one credible has come forward having seen the Joker or Harley Quinn, and they may be failing to consider the mobility issue."

"If he's walking, it's literally a miracle of modern medicine," I said as we walked back in the direction of the house. At the mudroom door to the manor, he handed me the shotgun.

"Would you like me to clean this for you, Miss Lys?" he inquired.

"I appreciate the offer, but I got a kit when I got the targets," I said. He smiled and performed a quick inspection.

"It is not that I think you are untrustworthy or careless, but I don't know the butlers who presided here between my tenures," he murmured as he made sure the gun was ok. I smiled too; Alfred's standards were impeccable. "In good condition, Miss Lys. Does your high school have a skeet team?"

"I didn't know that was a thing," I said, taken aback. "I don't know. But if I can't go to tennis, my parents aren't going to let me stand in the middle of an unsecured field, gun or no." Alfred's smile faded.

"I see your point, Miss Lys," he said. "May I offer a different sort of diversion? I would be happy to teach you cooking and baking, if you would like, to assist your quest to be ready for college. Once you learn a few core techniques, you'll fine it easy to follow virtually any recipe." That caught my interest and I agreed immediately, thanking him at once. We agreed to a time and date after school, and he held the door for me. I thanked him again and went up to clean the gun before putting it back in the safe and going downstairs and cleaning up. I knew precisely how much of the cocktail hour I could neglect before Dad called me on it. I didn't have much to contribute these days and I was grateful that Deri carried the conversational load with Dad.

"How was school today, Lys?" he asked as I took my glass from Alan.

"Fine," I said briefly. Dad frowned.

"What did you do?"

"I went to first period and listened to a lecture on shooting crowd scenes, which I can't do. I got my sixth assignment shooting wildlife instead. Second period, another lecture. Third period, turned in homework, another lecture. Fourth period, got homework back, a 94. Lecture. Lunch, which was a veggie burger, wilted salad, steamed green beans. Lecture fifth period, sixth period, pop quiz and a lecture and and lecture seventh period. You wouldn't give me permission to attend the SAT prep class so I had to register for the online class." That was particularly infuriating, because it was at school, but the sessions were on weekends without any of the security officers on campus. He sighed.

"I know this is hard, Lys, but--"

"No. Physical therapy was hard. Calculus is hard. This is entirely different," I snapped.

"Lys is right, Dad," Deri said unexpectedly. "I think my life sucks and I get to do a lot more than Lys does. At least I get to do a lot of my after-school activities. You can't keep us cooped up forever while the police bungle around town."

"Girls, we are not going to have this conversation again," Dad said sternly. "This is for your protection. And the police aren't bungling anything. They're making good progress." He cleared his throat. "Mom will be back this Friday, and we have the Rockefeller wedding on Saturday." I wanted to snort. The only reason we were still getting to go was that security would be tight with so many civic leaders, politicians, ect in attendance. Still, it was something outside the estate and I was going to get to wear the beautiful blue dress Uncle Steve had made for me. Alan called us into dinner, which was mostly silent, and I had a cookie and a cup of decaf before pleading homework and going upstairs, Deri right behind me.