Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee STP 18 by Peregrinf

   It began with a very short, eerie whistle, more a chirp, which cut off
with a THWOCK!  The archery butt shuddered from the impact, an arrow
suddenly blossoming like a weed from the target.  If I hadn't moved when I
did I would have been pinned there like a bug on display.

   Dropping facedown on the grass I scrambled behind the butt.  On my back
I studied the half of the arrow sticking out on this side.  It was tipped
with a hunting head designed to drop a moose in its tracks.

   Shit!  Why would anyone bring a hunting arrow to a target range?

   Three guesses, and the first two don't count!

   You gotta be kidding!!  I told The Stick, feeling a chill.

   I never kid.

   I had to admit she didn't, but still not believing her, I stuck my head
out for a look.  Another arrow whistled past my ear.

   That literally scared the piss out of me.  Since all I had on were my
quiver and bow at least I didn't have to change my undies.

   I hate it when you're right, I told my alter ego.

   You thought they'd give up after one try?

   When Maria had warned me there were people after me I hadn't taken her
seriously.  GabFest had further roiled the waters, of course.  The day
after the show, as I rode Bessie home, a pickup truck crowded me close to
parked cars.  At the same time the driver of a van in a space ahead cracked
open his door.  It was the kind of thing I always watched for in tight
traffic.  Not so much the crowding as the door being opened.  Taking
evasive action I dodged the threat, the crunch of the pickup taking the van
door off was enough to confirm my fears.  If I hadn't zigged when I did
Bessie and I would likely have wound up under the wheels of the truck, or
smeared on the inside of the van door.  It could have been an accident, one
of the normal hazards of riding a bike in traffic.  Only I'd seen the van
driver watching me in his side-view mirror.

   That had made me a believer in Maria's warning.  But, not wanting to
worry them I hadn't mentioned it to anyone.

   I was thinking now that had been a mistake.  As an accident avoided that
had only scared me.  What I felt now was real fear and confusion.  Who the
hell would want me out of the way badly enough to turn me into an archery
target and why for chrissakes?  I was a kid, and all I was doing was
defending The Naked in School Program.  Why would anyone be that pissed off
over a bunch of innocent teens -- well maybe not all of them were all that
innocent -- running around naked?

   This was just not fair, not fair at all!  I wasn't even old enough to
drive a car -- or vote -- and they wanted me dead?  Okay, I wouldn't die a
virgin, small comfort.  I had to admit my appearance on GabFest had stirred
certain circles in the opposition to a froth, but prudes and
hyper-conservative churchgoers are not usually assassins, are they?  And
besides, didn't they believe in "Thou shalt not kill?"

   What about their stand on the death penalty?  The Stick asked.

   Hey, if you can't help, shut up and let me think.  We're in deep doodoo
here.

   Shutting up.

   Yeah, right.

   It was all I could do to keep myself from taking off in a full-bore
linear panic.  I had to get a grip.

   I'd told Maria I was coming here -- partner rule #1 -- so she knew where
I was.  But it was Sunday morning.  As far as she knew no one had made a
try at me yet, and operating under the theory that even bad guys took
Sunday off she hadn't seen any reason to arrange cover for me.  Besides,
Eddie would be here to keep an eye on me.

   Except I'd told him that I'd mind the store so it was okay for him to go
out for his favorite double mocha latte which, for him, involved at least a
half hour of flirting with the barista.

   Shit!

   Maria was at church, becoming godmother to her newest niece.  Mom was
hosting an open house -- yeah, even on Sunday -- and Elaine was tending to
a laboring mother-to-be whose baby didn't care what day it was.  There were
no other archers or spectators, so I was very much alone on the range with
a homicidal archer shooting big-game arrows at me.  How this could be made
to look like an accident I didn't know, or give a shit, for that matter. 
My concern was avoiding it.  At least I had my bow with me and some target
arrows, so I could sorta fight back, but this guy was literally armed for
bear.

   I could see the headline.  "Girl Found Dead on Archery Range; Foul Play
Suspected."

   Well doh!

   Dammit, that would really upset Mom!  I hate upsetting her.

   I guess he got bored with waiting for me to come out of hiding.  With a
WHOOMP!  his next shot punched completely through the butt, dusting me with
bits of the foam insulation it was made of.  One blade of the arrowhead
scratched my naked ass.  I made like a gopher.  A minute later the next
arrow came whistling down out of the sky to bury its point in the turf
about five yards behind me with an emphatic CHUNK!  In addition to being
razor sharp those steel points were heavy!

   Great!  Now he was lobbing them at me, either to smoke me out or hoping
for a lucky drop.

   Fuck!  Archery was my release.  Swimming and diving were competitions. I
love 'em but they have their stresses.  I shot arrows into targets just for
fun.  The range was my retreat, my escape from all the shit; from the
homework and tests, the memories of The Worm, the fear of screwing up
SACNISP and all the crap that went with it.  I came out here to let off
steam and escape into innocent fantasies.  I sometimes pretended I was
Robin Hood, with lots of naked Merry Men and, being bisexual, a nude Maid
Marian by my side, with the Sheriff of Nottingham in my sights.  This
sonofabitch had invaded my fantasies.

   The more I thought about it, along with being terrified I began to get
angry.  Being angry became being furious, and from furious it was only a
short step to being completely, thoroughly, and totally pissed off.

   I wanted to kill the bastard!

   So?  Go get him!  The Stick whispered in my ear.

   And just how do you suggest I do that, armed with nothing but target
arrows and my puny -- by some standards - forty-pound bow?

   I don't know.  You're the brains of this outfit.  You'll figure out
something.

   Thanks!

   Another arrow dropped in with the same distinctive whistle -- it was a
very evil whistle -- closer this time.  Fighting the urge to curl up in a
ball to minimize his target I took inventory.  I had my bow and eleven
target arrows.  I was seriously out-gunned, and he was no novice.  Sooner
or later either I'd have to come out or he'd come after me.

   I assumed he was a hired bow.  Where the fuck did the scum who wanted me
dead find an expert archer to off me?

   The obvious answer was that by definition a hit man was a hunter, one
who, in his days off, would probably go after whatever was in or out of
season with whatever weapon was appropriate.  A gun going off on a Sunday
morning in the park might just attract attention and a bullet hole was even
less likely to be seen as an accident, so he'd decided to get in a little
time doing some bow hunting.

   Why not?  I was a defenseless kid.  To him this was probably nothing
more than a carnival game.  Nail the girl and win the prize!  I wondered
how much I was worth.  Probably more than was in my piggybank, so buying
him off wasn't an option.  I didn't suppose he'd take an IOU, either.

   Another arrow dropped in on me, close enough to make me retract my
landing gear.  What was that, number five?  For some reason counting them
seemed important, so I thought back.  No, that was number six.

   Maybe he was just playing with me.  In any case his shots were getting
uncomfortably close, and I needed help.  Unclipping my cell phone from the
strap on my quiver I debated calling 911.  I'd have a lot of explaining to
do to get them to believe me, and then they'd come with sirens screaming,
giving William Tell out there plenty of time to put an arrow through my
apple and get away.

   I speed-dialed Maria instead, and got her voice mail.  Great!

   "Maria!  Help!  Archery range." Disconnecting, I put the phone back on
the quiver's strap.

   If I was going to fight back I needed heavier ammo.  Squirming around I
gathered up what I could of his arrows, leaving the first one through the
butt rather than let him know what I was doing.

   Now.  How could I figure out where that motherfucker was without
sticking my neck out?  When I'd risked a look and almost gotten my head
ventilated he hadn't been on the firing line.  This time I peeked through
one of the many arrow holes in the butt, but all I saw was where that
particular arrow had come from.  So I tried the one his second hunting
arrow had left.  It was a bigger hole, but all it showed me was the patch
of shrubs to the right of the gate into the range.  Damn!  Where was he?

   I was about to give up when I saw a flash of light -- reflection off
binoculars maybe?  -- and he suddenly seemed to pop out of the leafy
background.  He was right in front of the shrubs, wearing camouflage,
probably staying by the gate for a quick getaway.  As I watched he raised
his bow, loosing arrow number seven skyward.

   Seconds later I heard its whistle and I wanted to dig a hole to hide in.
Jeez that was a powerful bow!  He was a good sixty yards away and he was
lobbing them God knows how high to let them drop on me.  Counting the one
still in the butt and one that was out of reach in front of it meant he'd
fired nine so far.  Assuming he'd brought a dozen of the monsters he only
had three left.

   A silly assumption, I know, but it gave me some comfort.  Even if it was
true, no way was I going to engage him in a shootout at sixty yards.  I had
a popgun compared to his cannon and while I was pretty good I wasn't that
good.

   Sooner or later he'd come to see if one of his lobs had gotten me, so
waiting was not an option.  Besides, I'd be damned if I'd stay here like a
sitting duck.  If I could get close enough I could pepper him with my
legendary quick-draw.  Even a target arrow can be lethal.

   Maybe I could use the shorter-range butts for cover to work my way in.

   Good luck!  The Stick wished me.

   Okay, so it's a lousy plan.  I don't hear any better ideas.

   I leave the thinking to you.

   Then put a cork in it so I can!

   Corking it.

   Wise ass!

   I nocked a target arrow and used my bow-hand index finger to hold it
half drawn, keeping my right hand free for balance.

   Thinking about what I was about to do made me water the grass again.

   Hearing arrow number ten whistling down, while he reloaded I sprinted my
skinny tail on a diagonal to a butt ten yards closer in.  Arrow number
eleven skipped along the turf about five feet behind me as I dove face down
under cover, painfully scraping my nips in a flurry of grass clippings.

   So much for my comforting arrow count assumption.  No way did he have
only one arrow left or he'd be saving his ammo instead of taking pot shots
at me on the scamper.  As if to confirm that conclusion his twelfth came
through this butt like an artillery shell.

   Okay, number of arrows left was not a given.  For sure on my next dash
he'd think to lead his target -- me -- but unlike a duck in a shooting
gallery at least now I was close enough to fire back.  If I was super-lucky
I'd put out his eye.  At the very least it might distract him or make him
flinch.

   I took off for my next destination, pausing briefly in my bobbing and
weaving to let fly in the general direction of his shrubs.  He wasted
another arrow and I was under cover twenty yards from the firing line,
within forty yards of him.  His next shot blew through that butt like it
wasn't even there.  Fortunately he'd aimed high and I was flat on the
ground, grateful for my lack of boobs.

   Only now I was out of butts and this serpent knew exactly where I was.
Shit!  I hunkered down further, fully expecting him to shred my hiding
place with a blizzard of arrows on the off chance a shot would get me. 
When nothing happened I dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, he might
finally be running low on ammo.

   It occurred to me that all this time neither of us had said a word, not
even a "come out and I'll make it a quick, clean kill!" from him.  Maybe he
was the strong silent type.

   Me?  What was I supposed to say?  "Hey, why are you trying to kill me?"
didn't seem like much of a conversation starter, and "I surrender" wouldn't
fly with him either.

   I was dawdling.  Like it or not it was showdown time.  I sometimes
practiced drawing, nocking and firing as fast as I could.  If I didn't
fumble I could get three shots off in about six seconds, though not very
accurately.  Maybe adrenalin would speed me up.

   Go for it!  The Stick urged.

   Easy for you to say, it's not your ass on the line.

   Oh?  she asked, raising a philosophical question I was too scared to
answer.

   As I was resetting my quiver by my hip for a quicker draw my cell phone
vibrated, a welcome distraction, so I grabbed it.

   "I'm on my way!" was all Maria said.  I heard horns and screeches.  The
spray of Latino that followed didn't bear translating.

   I kept my voice low, rather than let him know I had help coming.  "He's
by the gate.  He's got a bow, probably compound, not a crossbow.  I haven't
seen a gun.  I'm behind a twenty-yard butt just left of Eddie's shop, about
forty yards from him.  Hurry!"

   "Don' let heem get away!" Her accent gets thicker when she's excited.

   "Like I have a choice?" I muttered, reholstering the phone.  Nocking a
target arrow I peeked through the big hole he'd just made in my butt.  No,
not MY personal butt -- oh you know what I mean.

   SHIT!  He was on the move and I couldn't wait for Maria.  He was maybe
thirty yards away, advancing slowly, and now I knew another reason he'd
hung back.  At about four hundred pounds he was built for intimidation, not
mobility.  He probably notched his ass for each victim he killed by just
sitting on them.  He didn't stalk anything or anyone.  He lumbered on legs
like tree trunks, his big feet spread to balance his bulk.  He was a
sniper, lurking, sucking down beer and cheeseburgers, waiting for Bambi or
whoever to walk into his sights.

   He had one of those damn compound bows woven with strings like a banjo
and springs and cams and levers and whatnots that packed cannon power into
a compact package.  It even had some sort of sight -- like he'd need it at
this range!  He was holding his bow with both hands, an arrow nocked and
ready, fully drawn.  Another arrow was clipped to a gadget attached to the
bow for an easy reload.  Like he'd need it!  One would be plenty if I let
him get any closer.

   The only thing in my favor was that he was safety-conscious, holding his
bow low and pointing at the ground.  Sweating bullets I popped out on the
far side of the butt from him, no further than I had to, and started
firing, trying to pretend it was a turkey shoot and he was a very fat
Butterball.

   Everything went into slow motion.  I got my first shot off before he
started to turn and raise his bow.  He flinched, even though I'd only fired
a target arrow.  Getting bolder, stepping out further my second shot, one
of his hunting arrows, literally whistled past his head, making him duck
and hesitate, like he couldn't believe I was doing this!

   Believe it asshole, my cheering section rooted for me.

   My third, another target arrow -- I wasn't looking, just nocking
whatever I grabbed -- should have done some damage but only bounced off his
bloated belly.  He started to aim.  My fourth arrow, another target arrow,
actually tore through the loose crotch of his cammies.  Reflexively
lowering his bow in an attempt to protect the family jewels his release
slipped, burying that arrow in the dirt inches from my naked foot.  Then
his fat fingers fumbled the reload, dropping his last arrow.  As he bent to
reach for it I ricocheted one of my arrows off his hairless dome.

   It started a trickle of blood oozing from his naked scalp and had to
have hurt.  Looking up he froze, Bambi in the headlights, because I was
less than ten yards away, drawing my bow as I advanced, aiming right at the
crease between his hairy eyebrows.  It was another target arrow, but at
this range with my bow even that would go right through his skull, and we
both knew it.

   As he dropped his bow and started to straighten up I drew my arrow back
another inch, my thumb firmly nestled into the corner of my mouth, my
aiming point still that same spot.

   He was a dead man.

   NO!  The Stick shouted in my skull.

   But he tried to kill us!

   Don't do it!  D He's a fucking killer!

   But you're not!

   My arms ached, my bow-hand was sweaty, my shooting fingers burned.

   You're supposed to be on MY side!

   I am.  You know I am.  I am always on your side.

   Shut up!  SHUT UP!

   I was so tired of this!  My target was sweating, I was crying.

   Don't do it.  The Stick said softly.  It's over.  Let him go.  Let it
go. Just let it go.  Let it all go.

   He turned to run, probably thinking I didn't have the guts to shoot him
in the back.

   Maybe my fingers slipped, I don't know, but the arrow got away and along
with it went all the fury and frustration and terror built up over however
long this waking nightmare had gone on.

   He got it in the end.  My aim had dropped -- tired arms?  -- and the
arrow buried itself in the right cheek of his massive ass.  He squealed
like a baby, stumbled and went down like he'd been harpooned.  As he
struggled to get up -- talk about morbidly obese!  -- I stepped up on his
back to pin him down.  He subsided, blowing like a beached whale.

   "Stay down," I warned.  He stayed.  Maybe it was my weight or the pain
in his ass or the arrow I had loaded and digging into the back of his bull
neck.  I heard distant sirens.  Maria must have called in the cavalry.

   I was still mad enough to kill but I wanted information even more and I
had to hurry.  Not being a cop I didn't give a shit about legal niceties
like Miranda warnings.  Easing off on my bow I reached back to wiggle the
arrow in his tail, asking him who had hired him.  When that didn't work I
gave it a harder stir and threatened to insert one of his hunting arrows up
his ass.  Whether I found the natural opening in his crack of doom I did
not care.

   By the time Maria arrived I had what I wanted.  She was followed by a
chorus of black-and-whites in full voice, their lights all flashing, with
an ambulance bringing up the rear.  Climbing down off Jumbo I bent over and
puked my guts out.

   Yuck!  Why do I do that?

   After rinsing my mouth with water my favorite paramedics checked me out,
playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who got the fun of treating my
scratched ass.  The winners were very gentle and thorough on my butt with
antiseptic and a Band-Aid while Maria and her forces restrained the perp.
Moby Dick was so big it took three sets of cuffs to connect his wrists
behind his back.  They frisked him, relieving him of some kind of big
pistol and two knives.  Under his cammies he had on a bulletproof vest -- I
didn't know they came that big -- which explained why my pot shot had
bounced off his belly.

   The medics attended to him less gently.  He was pleading for
painkillers, which they didn't give him, using the excuse of his head
wound, if you could call it that.  Gauze and tape took care of it, but they
left the arrow in his ass for a surgeon to extract.  It must have missed
anything vital, since he hadn't bled out.  I thought of tying my panties to
it as a trophy flag, but decided I'd already had enough fun with him.  It
took all six medics plus some cops and a lot of grunting and groaning to
get him on a gurney.  Once he was loaded the ambulance rode about six
inches lower.  Against the medics' advice, I declined to ride with him. 
With the excitement over I was in Maria's arms with a near terminal case of
the shudders, exhausted beyond belief.  I didn't begin to revive until she
got me home, immersed in the spa in the master bath.  Maria was embracing
me from behind as I nestled between her thighs, her pillowy breasts
cushioning my back.

   "I called your mama," she assured me as I cuddled in her embrace.  She
was warm and soft where she should be, muscular where she needed to be and
I buried myself in her strength and security.  "She was showing some people
the house.  Rather than worry her I told her not to hurry, that you were
fine, but not why I was with you or what happened."

   Oh sure, I was great!  Another six months of therapy with Ms.  Andrews
and I'll be rockin'.  Then Maria's embrace dispelled all thought and I
moved one of her hands up to cup my poor abused titties.  They really
hadn't appreciated all that diving on my face on the turf.  Squirming
against her I abandoned myself to the warm, warm water with its teasing
bubbles and currents as well as the pure sensuous, erotic pleasure of
Maria's silken flesh against mine.

   For some reason I was horny as a goat!

   She breathed warmly in my ear and I tilted my head, inviting her to feed
on the side of my neck.  She happily obliged, and I soon wanted nothing
more than for her to make me forget everything by making love to me.

   And oh bless her she did!  She nuzzled my neck, gently massaged my
aching breasts with one hand, letting me guide her other one down to my
cunt.  She cupped the soft flesh there, pressing and massaging me, making
my pussy burn.  Cradled as I was between her thighs she hooked her heels
over my shins and spread my unresisting legs.  My pelvis rocked up to
encourage her grip on me.  I writhed back against her lushness while her
fingers parted my labia, steaming water invading me.  Purring and
whispering sweet nothings in my ear, she slipped her finger into me,
wriggling it inside my folds, working it deep into my vagina.  With the
water diluting my normal lube it didn't go easy, but I kinda liked the
feeling.  Her palm pressed down against my clit at the same time her
fingertip stroked that special sensitive spot in my tunnel of love,
wracking me with an explosive eruption of pleasure, a supernova that swept
out through my entire body, wave after wave.

   Just as it was starting to fade she bit my earlobe and I went off again,
into a whole new universe of ecstasy!

   Sometime later I coalesced in the simple, loving comfort of her embrace.
She let me turn in the circle of her arms to face her, still cradled
between her thighs, and we kissed, long and deep while I cried.

   Once I was cried out she helped me out of the tub and we dried each
other.  Without a word we managed to make it from the master bedroom to my
own bed, where we indulged in a second round of lovemaking.  As I squirmed
around to feast on her mossy grotto I wondered if danger made her as horny
as it did me.  From the way she drew my crotch down to her mouth I
suspected it did.  Indulging in a wicked urge to torment her I spent a long
time examining her hot pink petals, flicking them with my tongue, even
teasing her pee-hole.

   She put an end to that by taking nips at my flowing pussy, sucking on
the lips, licking teasingly around the opening of my cunt.  When she
delicately scratched at my asshole I gave up all pretense and dove more
lustily into her twat, smothering myself in her juicy folds.  While my
mouth sought her pleasure berry she wormed her finger into my bung and
plunged her tongue into my vagina.  Determined to return the favor I sank a
finger in her tailgate and my thumb in her cunt.

   She growled in my crotch and redoubled her efforts on me and it became
some kind of a contest to see who could bring who off.  In the end it was a
tie and we knotted up together, my long lean body and her short stocky one
until we were too weary to hold on and went limp, panting from our efforts.
Eventually we righted ourselves and snuggled and I fell asleep in her
soothing embrace, which was where Mom found us when she came home.  She did
her Mom thing, undressing right there by my bed to join us, sandwiching me
against Maria so I was engulfed in their love.

   So of course I cried some more, turning this time to my Mom.  When I was
finally cried out she gently petted my head and face, wiped away the tears
on my cheeks, and I braced myself for her asking me what happened.

   Instead she wanted to know if I was hungry.

   I was thinking about that when Elaine came in and took in the three of
us entangled on the bed.  Without batting an eye she turned around.  "I'll
thaw the sauce and get the spaghetti water heating," she announced, heading
back down to the kitchen.

   Spaghetti with my sauce is the ultimate comfort food in our house, and
they sensed I needed it.  Maybe that tells you why I love both my Moms so
much.  They both had to be exhausted, Mom from her open house and Elaine
from bringing a new life into the world, but all they wanted was to care
for me, knowing I'd tell them what happened when I was ready rather than
giving me the third-degree.  Oh, they knew something had happened, but had
no clue what.

   When we got down to the kitchen Maria was in her all-cop mode.  "I'm
gonna need to take Dee's statement when we're done here, so we will not
discuss anything about her day until after I do that.  You can sit in on
that, if you promise to not interrupt.  I don't want to hear a peep out of
either of you.  Comprende?"

   Mom started to bridle at this, but subsided when Maria said it was
either that or she'd have to take me downtown, where I'd be provided with a
lawyer and a child advocate and she'd be lucky to watch through the one-way
glass.

   I sure as hell didn't want that!  And neither did either of my Moms,
though it gave them an inkling of how serious this was.

   We were all nude, of course, and while the arrow scratch on my butt
wasn't visible I had more than a few abrasions on my chest and stomach
picked up from my belly flops on the grass.  Those got some suspicious
looks from Mom number one.  Mom number 2, although she's not into
dermatology I could sense her gynecological analysis of my battered
boob-ends.  At least the grass stains had been washed away.

   I was surprised to realize I was ravenous.  Whether I would be after I
gave my statement I didn't know, so I ate, while Elaine and Mom chattered
about their doings, trying to cover the underlying tension.  Mom had met
some nice people, gotten some good responses at the open house, while
Elaine had ushered June Sumner Autumn -- hey, flower child parents, what
can I say?  -- into the world at 8 pounds 14 ounces and full voice.

   The only interruption came when Maria got a call and took it into the
living room for a long chat with someone.

   When we were done Maria got out glasses for Mom and Elaine.

   "What's your pleasure, ladies?  Trust me, you're gonna need something
stronger than wine."

   I didn't pay any attention to what they took.  I was stuck with a glass
of ice water.  I SO did not want to do this!  I felt like I was on the edge
of a cliff.

   Out in the living room Maria took charge, and no one contested it. 
Reminding them of their promise, she directed Mom and Elaine to the sofa,
letting me sit between them.  Maria had a chair at the end of the coffee
table, where she'd already unlimbered a pocket digital recorder from her
capacious pocket book.  Without explanation she punched a number into her
smart phone and put it in the middle of the coffee table as a speaker phone
beside the recorder.

   "We're ready at this end." I recognized the voice of her boss, Detective
Sergeant Kelly.  He left us wondering just who the "we" was.

   Turning on her recorder, Maria stated the date, time and place, and who
was physically present, announcing that it was to be an interview with
Diane Elizabeth Walker with regard to what had happened and yada yada yada.
She concluded with, "Please tell us, Diane, in your own words, what
happened at the archery range this morning, beginning with when you
arrived."

   I took a few moments to gather my wits, trying to lock down my emotions
and match her calm professionalism, dreading going where I had to go.  At
least she'd given me my starting point.

   Not daring to look at any of them, I focused my attention on Maria's
smart phone, wondering briefly just who was on the other end before I
began.

   "I got to the range about 9 AM...."

   "Speak up, please!" someone ordered brusquely.

   "And are you sure of the time?" someone else asked.  His voice was thin
and waspish.

   I felt myself blushing.  I'd mumbled, so I couldn't blame the first one,
as for the second....

   I heaved a big breath, self-consciously cleared my throat, and started
all over again, louder, beginning with the moment I'd locked Bessie to the
rack.  I told them I knew the time from the church bells and looking at the
clock on the wall of Eddie's shack, and ...

   Bessie!  I'd forgotten all about Bessie!  She was still out there alone,
locked to the rack.  I couldn't forget what had happened to her before,
when she'd been so helpless ...  how could I possibly have forgotten
Bessie?!

   "Bessie!  Is Bessie okay?" I asked, frantic.

   "Who's the hell is Bessie?" another new voice at the end of the phone
line asked.

   How many people were listening to this?

   "Bessie is her bicycle," Maria answered patiently.  "Please don't
interrupt!

   "Bessie's okay," she assured me.  "There are police at the range, still.
They'll be keeping at eye on her, I promise.  Tell me where the key to the
lock is and after we're done I'll go there and I'll lock her in my car."

   "In my pants," I moaned.  "My keys are in my pants.  I don't know where
my pants are, my clothes!" I felt like I was about to fall apart
completely. "Did Eddie get back?  Is Eddie okay?"

   "Eddie is fine.  We'll find your clothes.  Sarge, please ask the range
crew to take care of her bike, just watch it, and find Dee's clothes and
locate her keys.  Once I'm done here I'll take custody of Bessie -- I mean
her bike."

   That raised questions from the invisible peanut gallery about why my
clothes were still at the range, which would mean explaining (I couldn't
face it) that I always did my archery naked.

   God!  Could this get any more humiliating?  I'm trying to tell them how
someone tried to kill me and they're asking about my bike, discussing my
wardrobe -- or lack thereof.  I couldn't take it.  I hit the table and
screamed!

   "SHIT!  Will you all please SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

   That resulted in a ringing silence.  Mom drew me close, while Elaine
patted my shoulder.

   "If you don't let my daughter tell her story her way without
interrupting, this interview is over, and it'll be a cold day in hell
before I let you talk to her," Mom said in a tone I'd never heard from her
before.  "Do I make myself clear?"

   "I'll call back," Kelly announced, cutting off the connection and the
off-stage chatter that had started rebuilding.  I huddled between my Moms
while Maria fiddled with her recorder and fumed.

   When he called back Sgt.  Kelly apologized and promised there wouldn't
be any more interruptions.  Turning her recorder back on Maria went through
her rigmarole again, and I had to start all over again.  I had my emotions
locked down tight, helped by Mom holding my right hand, Elaine my left,
both of them leaning against me like bookends.  We were all still naked, so
their warm bodies felt good against me.

   When I described that first arrow, and how close it had come to killing
me they gasped and my Moms' grips almost crushed my hands.  Maria winced
and sucked in a breath.  This was all new to her, too.

   It didn't get any better after the second arrow, the one that almost
took my head off.  Then it was the aerial bombardment, my desperate dashes.
I tried to be specific about which butts I used for cover.  I did my best
to stick to the facts -- what I'd done and when I'd done it, leaving out my
internal dialogues with The Stick -- they'd lock me in a padded cell if I
told about those -- the terror, the peeing, the anger, until I was standing
on the Whale, fighting the urge to put an arrow through the back of his
head, and I finally ran out of words even though my mind was still running
madly on a maniac treadmill, wondering if I dared share what I'd pried out
of the bastard, about how I'd done it, wondering what the cops had gotten
from him, if anything, wondering, wondering, wondering ...  I needed
answers, advice, help.  Nobody knew what I knew....

   I pried my hands loose so I could reach for my glass of water.  They
held me, but even so I was shaking so hard I had to use both hands to keep
from spilling.  I didn't know what to do?

   Sgt.  Kelly broke the silence.  "Miss Walker...."

   "Wait!" I snapped, interrupting him.  "I have to talk privately with
Detective Sanchez for a minute."

   After stating the date and time, Maria did the formal, "Let the record
show that this interview is interrupted for an off-the-record consultation
with the subject Diane Walker, at her request.

   "I'll call you back, Sarge," Maria added smoothly, closing the phone
connection before anyone could object.

   "Talk!" she ordered.

   "Kill the recorder," I told her.

   "Done.DNow, what's up?  Should they be here?" she asked, indicating the
Moms.  "No secrets, but depending on what Dee says, what happens here stays
in here."

   "You've all heard the worst," I assured them.

   They nodded and I took a deep breath.  "I got him to tell me who hired
him."

   "Dios!"

   "Oh my!"

   They were all looking at me as if I were god or something.

   "The police -- we -- have nothing from him!" Maria admitted.  "Why
should I be surprised you do?  How?"

   "How what?  With an arrow!"

   "I mean how did you get him to tell you?  He's a professional.  They
don't talk!"

   "I told you!  With an ARROW!" I couldn't meet their eyes.  "I kinda used
the one in his ass to pry the information out of him.  I'd rather not go
into details."

   "Good for you!" Elaine exulted.

   "Who was it?" Mom asked.

   I shook my head.  "I'd rather not say yet.  What I need to know is, what
do I do now?  I might've broken the law."

   "Oh my."

   Poor Mom.

   "I'm not a lawyer," Maria pointed out after some thought.  "I'm a cop.
This is outside my pay grade.  You may need a lawyer.  Meanwhile maybe I
can talk with my boss so we can get some use out of what you know.  But we
got to keep the rest of them out of it or they'll go crazy."

   "Who is this mysterious 'them' you keep talking about?" Mom asked her.

   "Aside from Sgt.  Kelly and the district attorney's office?  Well, let
me see now.  There's the FBI, the DEA, the Treasury Department...."

   "Treasury?" Elaine interrupted.

   "What's going on here?" I asked.  "The FBI?  DEA?  Why them?  I'm a kid.
I don't belong in a mess like this." I felt like I was treading water in a
tank full of shit with piranhas nibbling on my toes.  Not being at my most
stable I got mad at her.  "What haven't you told me, Partner?"

   Maria counter attacked.  "What haven't you told me?  Was this their
first attempt, Partner?"

   I flushed.  "I don't think so," I mumbled.

   "You don't think so?"

   Storm clouds formed on Mom's brow.  I was in for it now.  Elaine
interrupted what looked to be a rotisserie grilling with Maria and Mom
taking turns turning the spit.

   "We've got people waiting to hear from us," she reminded us, pointing at
Maria's phone.  "What are we going to tell them?"

   Maria reached for her phone.  "Nothing, until I talk with my boss in
private."

   "And what haven't you told me?" Mom asked.  "This wasn't their first
try?"

   Oh shit.  I hadn't lied, but I'd kept from her that first possible --
make that probable -- attack, and I'd lost track of how much I owed the
curse jar, and now who knows what kinda trouble I was in with the cops, the
FBI and who knows who else?  I sat there feeling small and foolish and
guilty and I wanted to crawl in a hole and pull it in after me.

   "I don't think so," I admitted.  "In fact, I'm pretty sure it wasn't."

   "Do tell." Mom was grim.  Never mind that someone had tried to kill me,
I was probably destined to be grounded for a year for holding out on her,
all because I didn't want her to worry.  I also owed a year's worth of
allowance to the cuss jar for my liberal use of four letter words in her
presence.  Oh she knew them all, she just didn't like to hear them.

   "Let's wait 'til Maria's off the phone so I don't have to repeat
myself," I suggested timidly.

   Her nod wasn't reassuring.

   All in all what had already been a really crappy day looked like it was
about to get worse.

   Look on the bright side!  You're not dead, The Stick pointed out.

   Shut up!  After Mom gets through with me I'll probably wish I was.

   Shutting up.

   I should be so lucky.

   You'd miss me.

   Yeah, I would.  Will you be with me when I'm in solitary confinement?

   Of course.  Where you go, I go.

   Thanks.

   And I meant it.  If it weren't for her I'd have been a killer.  I wasn't
sure I could have lived with that.