VOICES

It was no dream. It sure felt like one. There were voices. I'd not had my wits about me, and at the time the context made no sense.

The voices were talking quietly. "They'd not been Pearl Girls. They'd just been dressed like them." "Who knew? An elite, all female-Gilead military force." "Miracle that only two on our side were killed. Almost got this one here, although not with bullets."

"This lady here in the bed beside Rita, she's the hero. RCMP. Just happened to be there to interview Blaine. At the same time as Rita and Syl." "Jesus, who knew the Swiss had an arsenal in that house. I guess it explains why they'd been able to stay neutral in World War Two, with both Germany and Italy as neighbours…. Then again, they'd had all the Kraut's money….."

The next voice? A woman calling my name. "Rita. It's all right, Rita. You can wake, we need you awake, Rita. C'mon." All that was just silly. Why not let me sleep. Apparently, that's what I was doing. I was happy sleeping. Leave me alone.

When I awoke next, the doctor was talking to me. Wow, he was in mid-sentence. Had I been following along? "Excessive drinking, Rita, contributes to cardiomyopathy. That's a condition that messes with the heart muscle, it's progressive, but in your case escalated rapidly."

That's all I followed. Give me some credit for remembering that much. I don't remember him leaving. But I heard no more voices. Wait a minute? Had there been a shooting or had I had a heart attack? I was not to figure it out.

Until I was conscious.

SYLVIA WAS DEAD - SHOT

Dr. Emily Malek was dressed in black, seated on the couch with Tricia, also in black, on her arm. The two adult kids flanked them.

Well wishers were coming and going. Syl had not wanted a service, but my priest said that everyone needs to have something. Looking at Em's blank face seated there, I suddenly knew why the priest offered something more formal. A 'receiving line' had formed. If it had been in a church, the priest would have broken that up, tout suite. Here, though, each one waiting patiently for their turn to offer condolences. Poor Em, she was shell-shocked, and having to be polite. Endlessly polite to a blur of an endless line of people. Being polite once wasn't the problem, it was that there were between 75 and a hundred people there, all waiting their turn.

Suddenly, Oliver stood and his sister stood as well, shielding Emily from the line. They got Em and Tricia to their feet and took them upstairs. Oliver addressed the crowd, apologizing, saying that his mom was going to lie-down and might be back shortly. "Don't go, we're glad you're here, there's still plenty of food."

It was June who was the rude one. She'd stood near the door, had been accompanied by no less than the Swiss Ambassador herself. As Em and Tricia ascended the stairs, June called out, "Go ahead, run. The war's not over, you know." The room descended into some quiet, "who's she?", or "fuck offs", or "who invited her?"

Me, I had just been released from the hospital myself. Yesterday, then the drive back here to Toronto for this. I had needed two large men to help me get into Em & Syl's house, and needed help getting on to this sofa. The urge to help out in the kitchen was simply not there. Not no more. I was going to need help just to get back to the car.

I'd had my heart restarted - twice. Once at the Swiss Embassy in Ottawa by the EMT, then again at Hôpital Élisabeth Bruyère, a short ambulance drive away. They'd not spared the ribs pounding on me.

THE SKINNY

The last that I remember was that Syl had I had drawn the short straws to go back to the Swiss Embassy. The perky Swiss girl had taken our coats, requested that we wait in the entryway - she would bring us some Swiss chocolates, and either tea or coffee - our choice. "The chocolates are upstairs, ones my mom sent. I'll go get them."

"The RCMP is in with The Commander, as well as The Ambassador." I asked if the young woman who'd just gone in was, in fact, the Ambassador. "Yes, that's Ms. Meyer." I remember thinking that Ms. Meyer looked no older than either Oliver or his sister. By the look on her face, Syl must have been thinking the same. Then the staffer ascended the stairs.

Me, I was tagged with trying to reason with June for obvious reasons. Nick and I had met each other well before either of us had met Offred. Nick had saved me.

Syl, well Syl had not really known June. Syl and Emily spent the first few years following Em's escape with Nichole - they'd been separated those initial days. Those were hard years, Emily did not need to tell me why. But I knew they would work it out. They had what me and Mark hadn't.

That's what I was thinking… when the first bullet came through the Embassy's front door.

Sweet Jesus, why another thing? Was not Gilead enough? I saw Syl just as she was hit. I thought, "June is right, there is no healing."

Syl collapsed. Then it was a blur. Then they were pounding on my chest, screaming at me en Français.

So it was today, after Syl's memorial gathering. At my Toronto place, that Mark Tuello and Oliver were coming over to fill me in.

The doorbell rang, opening it I saw their friendly faces, each carrying a casserole. "Auntie Rita, you're not going to starve." I gave Oliver the most gentle hug I could muster. It just seemed natural that Tuello, the wrong Mark, walked by and put his food-offering directly into my fridge.

WHAT HAD HAPPENED

Syl had been the first hit. She'd died instantly. Beside her, I'd not lasted much longer. But I'd not been hit. I'd had a heart attack. At the hospital, I was told it must have been towards the end of the fire-fight, or I'd not have survived. That was the only bit of info I had that Tuello did not. But I have no memory, not really. I've lied to you, dear reader, but I don't lie about things like this.

Oliver had made the coffee. Said he'd clean up, too. That I was to do nothing. Nothing but listen.

Tuello's voice:

They'd been disguised as Pearl Girls. Annoying but supposedly harmless. As always, so we thought. From an upper storey window, that young, Swiss staffer had leaned out and told them to go away. "Go bother someone else!" At that, the girls pulled out various weapons - one fired through the front door as another killed the young woman in the upstairs window.

They weren't Pearl Girls. We now know that Gilead recruits and trains young women to act as an overseas strike force. I've been doing this for three decades, and that was new. Women - at arms. For Gilead. When I told that to Oliver's sister, all she said was, "Well bugger me."

The Ambassador, she had a shotgun in her hands before the echo of the first shots died down. Makes you wonder why a Swiss-national in Ottawa felt she needed the fire-power, but don't let that stop me. The RCMP woman, she'd had her service pistol, a Smith & Wesson 5946 semi-automatic. Here's the strange part. Both Osborne and Blaine were wielding shotguns, too. Where'd they get those? My bet is that it was the Ambassador. Osborne went to the back of the house where the kitchen was, as well as the door to the back-yard. She dispatched two Pearl Girl intruders there, ran back only to inform people there, "I'm out". Blaine, and the Ambassador were firing out the window into the street. Singh was with you, you lying on the entryway floor. She lay on top of you, firing out the now open front door.

Official word? Every one of the strike force died courtesy of Cpl. Singh's Smith & Wesson. That was the 'official story', that is. When the Ottawa police secured the area and surveyed the wounds on the dead, one cop wondered, "Since when did Smith & Wesson make shotguns? Those don't look like 19mm shotgun pellets to me!"

Me, I arrived long after it was all over. Because of the extraterritoriality of all, I negotiated with the Ambassador your transport to the hospital, and saw to the respectful handling of Oliver's mother. Once out of the embassy, an Ottawa funeral home handled things, including transport back here to Toronto. Because this had been a 'Gilead thing', the funeral home did it all for free. All of it.

The woman beside you in hospital? That had been Cpl. Singh. Yes, 'that' Cpl. Singh. The cop who'd walked unarmed into Gilead across the Rock River Bridge to fetch Oliver's sister. That's the second time she's taken one for the team.

I say this with apologies to my friend, Oliver, here. Things With Commander Blaine are back to square one. June Osborne and Nick Blaine are still at the Embassy.

But there's one thing for sure. Don't mess with the Swiss. Especially when Calamity June is in the building.

THE TEXT

Then a text from my Mark's girlfriend. "Mark just wants to know if you're all right. Because of 'things' he can't offer much, but wants you to know he's thinking of you. So am I."

"Yes, Auntie Rita?" Oliver replied to my query. "Anything. Anything for you. You were the last to see mom."

"Oliver, before you go, can you call your sister? I don't want to be alone tonight."

I thought about my Mark - he and me now permanently estranged. Separated in stone. Dead. I had to own up to that. He was gone. He was still a true gentleman, but now with someone else.

I now knew why June was so against 'healing'. If this is what that was, I should have been the one, not Sylvia.