DON'T WORRY, IT'LL BE BRUTAL

It was 3 am two nights' later when the phone finally rang. Most of the time, the network had been down - I'd stare and stare at the screen for 'bars' to appear.

Eleanor and I had, indeed, bunkered down in place. There had been little activity in our neighbourhood in any event. Conversely, explosions could be heard from downtown. And in this day of a 24/7 newscycle, it was just weird not knowing anything. I mean, the last thing my guy had said was that "no one can find the vice-President." In any language, that sounds bad.

All of which I pulled myself from, as well as from a deep sleep, to deal with my suddenly angry phone. It was him again. Middle of the night. Three am.

I said hello. He dispensed with anything resembling pleasantries. "Joe. I'm with some Jacobs. Don't judge me. I've convinced these guys we need you on our side. So I'm calling to tell you, you will be on our side." I guess I did not have much to say in this decision.

"Look, a truck will be by your place sometime between now and noon. I don't know when, maybe first light. But they're sending one. It's chaotic out there and this bunch of Jacobs are trying to coordinate with other Jacob-groups across the northeast, and into the mid-west. Not everything has gone according to plan. It's a real cluster-fuck. They'd not been set up to house so many women so soon."

What!? Women?

"But here's the deal, Joe. Forget Canada. Forget the university. By afternoon, you and Eleanor are going to be in their custody. I've arranged it. But it is not going to be pretty, Joe. You'll be wondering if I've done you a favour, but trust me, I have. Don't bother packing. And this - this is important Joe - don't flee, don't try anything. Just go with them. I'm going to give you a few phrases to use. Memorize them. Get Eleanor to memorize them as well."

"But it's going to be brutal for the next few days, Joe. It will. Look, I have to go. They're coming. Go with them. Remember those phrases."

OUT OF BODY

You go into yourself when being waterboarded. It messes with you.

Me, I spent the time wondering what they were doing to Eleanor. We'd been together in the back of the truck. That had not been terribly secure. If the two of us had been younger, I'm sure that there'd been spots along the way where we could have jumped and made a run for it. But we weren't kids.

Time stops. One of my tormentors had been keeping track of it. Me, the place I went was to be impressed as to how such a simple technique - a towel over one's face over which they poured water - could produce so much panicked-pain. I mean, to call it 'panic' was totally inadequate. Pain is not the right word either.

I sincerely hoped they were not doing this to Eleanor. I'm sure they were withholding her meds as it was. She was enduring enough.

I was to eventually understand the favour my frat brother had done for us. Eleanor had been saved this.

Not me. Not that day. It was me they were vetting.

AMAZING WHAT YOU GET USED TO

Speaking of time stopping. In this darkness and cold, it had either been two days or two weeks. I was quite sure at the time it had not been two months. It was hard to tell, there was no reference. Food would appear at the oddest times. Or at the appointed times. Who knew? I also imagined all sorts of things that I'm embarrassed to write here. When the imaginings stopped - some of them quite ornate - I always ended up back in the dark and the cold. With the smell of urine and feces, which was all mine.

I was going to write, 'it's amazing what you get used to', but let's be honest. I'd not got used to it. It was just 'there', for two days or two weeks depending.

Again, they'd not tell me what was happening to Eleanor. I'm afraid that one of my imaginings was religion. Again. Like my first embarrassing year at university back in the day. A freshman. Indeed, that year I'd transitioned from that campus Christian group to the fraternity. Discovered my stock in trade there - frat brothers and alumni engaged in transactional relations. No drama, just drinking and doing/returning favours. You do for me and I do for you. It was because of the frat that I caught fire in economics, breezing through a masters and a Ph.D. Controversially so, because my 'schtick' was against the times.

Neo-liberalism, although itself quite conservative, was not what I ended up theorizing about. I was called a transactional neo-conservative - to my annoyance that's what I'd been called - indeed, the progressive groups at the university had spat that at me as an insult. Well, fuck 'em.

Ok, ok. Time to stop the imaginings. I'm not back there tilting at the feminists or the progressives. The door had opened, the first bright light I'd seen in two days. Or was it two weeks? Or somewhere in between? Two guys came in, grabbed me to my feet - which quickly crumbled beneath me. That was a surprise. I couldn't see where they were dragging me, it was so bright. I distinctly remember being in the back of a truck, this time not even entertaining thoughts of escape.

The trucked stopped, the back opened exposing me to yet another overwhelming light. Someone grabbed my foot, and pulled me out - two guys supported me through what I suspected was a hotel lobby.

This was hilarious.

ROOM SERVICE

Ok, I did get my bearings. I was pushed into a rather nondescript, but entirely serviceable hotel room. After the men left, I was able to stand on my own, surveying the scene before me - bed, window, table and chairs, even a TV. The door to my right was closed, that must have been the bathroom.

Out of which came, my love. Eleanor. She came to me and we embraced, although I'd collapsed by then. We crawled to the bed, then just lay there. On which we cuddled and cried. For hours. Going in and out of consciousness. To this day I have flashbacks.

No matter. Not important. Again, I'd lost track of time. Until, that is, Eleanor finally said, "For mercy's sake, Joseph, go have a shower."

Which I did. Upon rejoining my love she said sternly, "Joseph, you need another one."

THEY KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING

Ok, the next part. Proof that these guys knew what they were doing at least at a minimal scale. I'd been left a natty black suit to get into, complete with tie which fit the look. It was to replace the bright white fluffy robe we were now in 24/7. They knew enough to leave Eleanor back at the hotel. What was to come would have been a dozen bridges too far for her, and even they knew that. My buddy's invisible hand turned out to be behind all this, for her and for me.

They needed me. But they needed to trust me. So I'll spare you the details. Today was the loyalty test. It's been written about copiously elsewhere - we'd even recovered it in some of the female accounts, written before the lockdown on feminine reading and writing had got set in concrete.

Stadium. Our van had stopped under the stands, we were ushered out the back. Up ahead, they marched us towards the tunnel to the playing surface. In the stands above us were random groups of pitiful looking stragglers in clumps. Some had made make-shift tents out of blankets. Guardians everywhere with automatic weapons.

While not wanting to anticipate what was next for me - I mean, would they dress me up like this for an execution? - I noticed the 'rifle-tree' ahead of us, and a guardian told us each to take one. There were about a dozen of us, and the Guardian said without any explanation, "Six of you have blanks, six of you have live ammunition. So be careful. Do you understand!?" We all obediently nodded understanding.

We grabbed a rifle, he then led us over to centre-field, where four men were kneeling blindfolded. As we got close, I recognized the dean of our faculty back at the university. He was kneeling, hands tied behind his back, looked a little worse for wear.

We stopped about 6 feet behind the kneelers. The Guardian said, "I'm going to count backwards from 5. After saying '1', I will say, 'Fire', which is when you pull your trigger. Does anyone need to be shown how to do that?" He then picked up a rifle of his own, and showed us how to shoulder it. How to aim. He fired a test shot, which tore off the head of a kneeler.

I don't remember much after that until the van's back door opened and we were back at the hotel. By that time I had free rein inside the premises. I went to the elevator, got out at my floor, opened our door to be greeted by a smiling Eleanor. I said nothing, turned to the bathroom and for the first and only time I vomited, right there on the carpet.

In all my time in Gilead, that was the only time. Out of all the horrors, why that one?

THE DREAMS

Eleanor would shake me awake. It would take a moment to get my bearings. No, it was not me kneeling at centre-field - not like in the dream. No, it had not been my Dean approaching me with a rifle - not like in the dream. No, it had not been the campus feminists - not like in the dream.

Nor had it even been Eleanor, she couldn't have been in the dream, she was right beside me. In the dream, Eleanor had shot my frat brother. In the dream she started to collect paintings from the French revolution period. That was just weird.

It had been a while since we'd seen anyone other than each other. I promised her that we would escape this. Somehow.

Yet, you could tell she'd been without medication. My love, my sole job was to keep her on an even keel. And I was failing.

So many regrets. I should have dragged her to Montreal.