The taillights of the work truck disappear down the road leaving me bolted to the floor of the garage. I need to go too, so as to not give up this location, but I'm finding it hard to breathe, so driving is probably not a great idea. I brace my hand on my knees and bend over at the waist, attempting to get my breathing under control.
What have I done? I've sent June off with a person unknown to me, trusting he'll take her somewhere safe and not drop her off at the closest checkpoint, that's what I've done. I've been a part of the Gilead machine for more years than I haven't in my life I know guardian pays people to inform on their family, neighbors…everyone. What is a pregnant handmaid worth? "FUCK!" I yell. I need to see she's safe.
I jump behind the wheel of the Benz and peel out, pausing only long enough to close the garage door, before barreling towards the closest crossing to Jezebel's. It was also the plan to go there, solidify my falsified travel and visit for Fred and the Eye's who I will inevitably be questioned by. But now I'm only worried about one thing, figuring out where they took June.
The drive takes the normal amount of time, but with my head spinning with every possibility, it seems to take forever. Finally, I pull up to the building and park right next to the back door. I usually keep my comings and going in the down low, but I could give a fuck right now.
I avoid the elevator; it takes too long and, opt for the stairs. I burst into the basement and march directly into the kitchen. "Delly," I call out to the first Martha I recognize.
The brunette Martha looks up from her chopping. "Hey, Nick. Marcus is waiting for you in the back," she tells me, tossing her head towards the camera room behind her.
"Where's Beth?" I ask.
She scoops her chopped veggies into a colander and shrugs. "Not sure, try the residents," she suggests, wiping her hands, and reaching into her apron for her fob.
I take it, "Thanks," and had for the stairwell again. I go up the 3 floors to the dormitories and fob through the door. Most of the Martha's here share spaces, but Beth is in charge, so she has her own room at the end of the hall. I knock, but there is no answer, so turn and jog down the hall to the "common room" which is just the lobby where the passenger leverage for this floor would have stopped at when this was a legit hotel. I spot her in the corner, curled up on one of the sofas looking out the window. "Beth," I call out.
She looks up at her name and initially smiles at me but when she sees my face, she turns concerned. She stands up and silently walks back towards her room with me in tow. She opens her door and ushers me in. I've been here before, plenty of times, but since things started with June I've not. She secures the door and turns with her hands on her hips. "What went wrong?' she asks worriedly.
I shake my head, and run a hand over my five o'clock shadow, "Nothing, nothing. The guy came, she got in, and is gone," I sigh.
Confusion wrinkles her brow.
"I need to know where she is, where the safe house is. I got to be sure she got there and is safe," I ramble.
Beth snorts and pulls her cap off, letting her long ponytail show. "That isn't going to happen, Nick," she says evenly.
My head is shaking no before she even finishes speaking. "That isn't an option, I got to be sure she's not just been turned in for a bounty," I argue.
"If that happened, you'll know that as soon as you go home," she states.
I look up at the ceiling, my hands on my hips. I know she's right, but it doesn't change that I need to see for myself that she's safe.
I feel her hand on my bicep. "I trust the person I talked to, I'm sure she's safe," she soothes.
I look down into her expressive eyes. "I've got to see it with my own eyes," I plead.
Her chin drops to her chest, "I don't know if that's even possible."
"Can I meet with your contact?" I ask. "I'll take the hit, I still have some cards I can play. I'll spy for them, get them black market stuff..anything," I ramble.
She glances up at me, then walks over to the window of her room. It's covered in scratched-up plexiglass and doesn't open, but she has a good view of the river. "Nick…" she sighs.
I cross the room to join her, putting my hands on her shoulders. For a second we just look out at the river that's reflecting the setting sun. "Beth, please?" I beg.
Her forehead goes to the window for a moment, before turning to face me. She's close to me, close enough that I can smell the scent of freshly cut cucumbers on her. Her hand come up to cup my jaw. "You love her?" she asks.
My breath escapes my lips. "I care about the baby and what happens to her," I respond, avoiding her question. This is more than I would have admitted to just a few months ago. It's an attachment.
She rolls her eyes at my tactics. Her hand drops. "I'll ask, but I can't make you any promises." She relents.
I wrap her up in a tight hug. "Thank you," I say into her hair.
She pushes away and crosses her arms. "You'll owe me," she states.
I roll my eyes, "Obviously."
"Oh no, not just for this," she scoffs, "Now that you've gone off and got yourself a girlfriend I'm going to have to break in a new special friend!" she growls playfully, poking my chest with her index finger.
I laugh. "Sorry about that," I apologize.
She squints and clicks her tongue. "And I just got you housebroken!"
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, got you bringing me herbs and everything," she smiles.
I pinch her arm lightly, "I'll still bring your herbs," I promise.
A knock on her door pulls us from our moment. She squeezes past me and answers it.
Marcus stands in the hallway. He looks over Beth's head at me. "I knew I could find you here," he teases. "You need me to come back?" he asks, eyeing the state of our full dress.
I shake my head, "Nope, I was just about to come down to see you," I state, stepping into the hall.
Beth holds up a hand, "Hang on," she says, holding up a finger. She goes over to her dresser and picks up a stack of cards. "Here's your travel docs," she says handing them to me.
I thumb through them, finding the checkpoint stamps all in place for my alibi. "Thank Beth," I offer.
She shakes her head dismissively. "I'll send a message about the other thing. Give me some time," she requests.
I nod my understanding and follow Marcus down the hall and downstairs to his office.
The room is dim, lit only by the glow of screens. Marcus sits in a chair in front of the desk and beings tapping on the keyboard and I drop down into a chair behind him.
A few seconds later the monitor on our right begins playing footage from "today". Video of me arriving this afternoon in the parking lot, images of me on the elevator, video of me talking to Beth and finally me talking to one of my contacts. It's a good thing I wear a uniform, or this would have been a lot harder to piece together.
"Look good?" Marcus asks over his shoulder.
"You always do the best work," I state, watching the video footage.
"I got you a couple of bottles of premium vodka for your Commander too. Should help seal the deal," he says, tapping away again.
The footage goes dark, and he grabs two bottles of Beluga Gold Line from the corner of his desk and swings around on his ancient desk chair to hand them to me. "Thanks," I offer. "I'll bring the case of cigarettes next week."
"I know you're good for it. If there any questions you know the drill," he says.
"Yeah," I state. If there is a problem, I fixed the footage and he has "proof" of that, so he doesn't end up on the wall. That's the way it is here. You do favors for other favors, but you always have a backup plan to save your own skin.
I stand and shake the man's hand. "Thanks again, Marcus."
On my way out, I stop in the kitchen to return Delly's fob before taking my forged documents and illegal booze out to the car and heading home.
Anxiety eats at my consciousness as I pull onto the block. Parked in front of the house is an array of vans in various colors. Eyes, Guardians, and Red Center vans sit haphazardly on the street. I pull on my Gilead mask and mentally work myself up for the onslaught that is about to happen.
I pull the car up next to one of the Eye vehicles and jump out and look around franticly. I march up the driveway, to the first Eye I spot, and salute. "What the hell is going on?" I ask with just the right level of concern in my tone.
The younger man stands at attention. "Sir, the Waterford's handmaid has been abducted," he says stiffly.
I let my eyes widen in shocked surprise and run up the stairs to the kitchen door, taking two steps at a time. I throw open the door to the solarium and rush into the chaos that makes up the room. There are at least 10 people milling between the kitchen and the breakfast room, all talking to either each other or into a radio. I see Rita standing by the stove, stirring something in a pot. I see the tension in the set of her shoulder.
"Blaine," a guardian I know, calls out to me from the entry to the kitchen from the hall. I weave my way through the crowd toward Guardian Pestel. I glance at Rita, who obediently keeps her eyes lowered and, on her work, but still, I see the evidence tear tracks down her face.
"Pestel, what the hell happened?!" I demand. "The guy outside told me Offred is missing?"
"Yes, we are still trying to determine what happened, but she went missing from the medical center after an appointment."
I shake my head, "How is that even possible?" I ask, unbelieving.
"She had to have help," he states.
I roll my eyes, "Obviously, any idea who though?"
He doesn't indulge my insolence, "Commander Pryce wants to see, he's in the library," he instructs.
I give him a nod and head down the hallway, my stomach roiling as I enter the room.
The room is full, much like the kitchen, except these are Commanders. Fred's eyes find me, he looks disheveled, angry, and beside himself. "Nick, can you believe this!" he asks, his voice breaking. I know this is all for effect, he could care less about what happens to June. He is likely more pissed than upset. How dare she run away from HIM? This indignity would be unacceptable to him, not the fact that "his" baby is gone with her. Pryce spots me in the doorway and waves me over. "Guardian Blaine, join me please."
I cross the room, feeling eyes on me as I pass. "Sir, I've received a quick briefing upon arrival, how can I be of service?" I ask, trying to strike a balance between concerned and obedient servant.
"I need you to head up an investigation at the clinic, but we need your statement before I send you off," he says, sounding truly contrite that he has to question me.
I shake my head, "Of course sir, it's standard protocol," I dismiss graciously. I reach into my back pocket but find it empty, which is intentional of course. "I'm sorry sir, my documents are in the car, I rushed into the house when I saw all the vans."
Pryce nods, "Come on, we can do this outside," he states, putting a fatherly hand on my shoulder.
I see the look of skepticism pass over Commander Putman's face, but as he is easily two pay grades under Pryce, he wisely keeps his mouth shut.
The two of us leave the library and exit the house via the front door. As we take the staircase down to the street, he looks over at me. "Waterford said you spent your afternoon at Jezebel's."
I nod my affirmation, "Yes, I had to meet with one of my contacts. Been having issues with his deliveries," I lie.
We reach the car and I open the passenger side door and reach over to the console to grab my travel docs and hand the stack of papers to him without hesitation.
He flips through them, doing a cursory job of looking them over.
"I also picked up these," I say, pointing to the bottles on the floorboard of the passenger seat.
He lifts an eyebrow, "Russian, someone really messed up hu?" he laughs.
I just shrug. "It's handled," I state confidently.
He hands my documents back to me. "You're in order," he says dismissively, then sighs.
"A pregnant handmaid on the run, this is a disaster," he growls.
I cock my head inquisitively. "I was told she was abducted."
"We don't have anything solid right now. The room was locked, per regulation. The doctor and the Waterfords were both in the room for the appointment. She was left alone to dress but when a guardian went to collect her, she was gone. The room was unlocked."
"The pregnancy confirmed?" I ask innocently.
"Yes. She is five weeks."
"It could be an abduction. It's not like the Waterfords to keep something like a pregnancy under wraps. I'm sure all of their friends knew about the pregnancy test, and it can quickly snowball from there. Childless couples have been known to do some pretty intense things to have a baby," I offer.
"We are looking into that."
"There has been nothing out of the ordinary, up until the stoning of course. She has a new walking partner, but Rita told me that they don't like each other much. Otherwise, she was in the kitchen, garden, or in her room." I say, giving him a rundown of her daily life.
"They said she was cooperative when she was picked up after the stoning, do you agree with that assessment?"
"Yes. She went quietly. She was worried of course but didn't cause any issues for the men. How was she at the Red Center?"
"The aunts say she was a little resistance at first, but it was quickly rectified, and she was fine."
I cringe inwardly. What did they do to make her compliant, I wonder.
"I'd like you to head over to the clinic now. Grab Pestel and take him with you. Guardian Rolfe is expecting you," he says, handing me the keys to one of the vans on the street.
I take them, pocket them, and give him a salute. "Thank you, Blaine," he says, then turns and heads back up the stairs.
After I've secured the Waterford's car in the garage, I grab Pestel, and we go over to the clinic. I find Guardian Rolfe, at the front desk looking over camera footage.
"Rolfe," I state.
A pair of very pale blue eyes look up at me from the screen, and though he quickly schools his features, I easily spot the disdain he has for me. He and I went through training together, but he hasn't risen through the ranks as quickly as I have and I'm pretty sure he hates me for even existing. "Report."
He stands at attention and looks over my shoulder at the door, refusing to make eye contact. "I have two teams of four each searching the exam room and all entrances and exits. They are dusting for fingerprints, so it's slow going. I've been reviewing the footage from today."
"Who is on?" I ask, wanting to see the roster of Guardians here.
He hands me a list. I look over the list and spot one name that makes me want to sigh in relief. Mike Watts. He's an interesting dude. He moved to the old US when he was 12 from Australia, and like me got pulled into the Sons of Jacob movement without really knowing what was really going to go down. We met at the government center where he's stationed. We've formed a mutually beneficial relationship over the years, mostly based on our mutual hatred of Commander bullshit and our jobs.
"Give me your walkie," I demand, holding my hand out. I hear the long breath expel out Rolfe's noise and nearly burst out laughing. He all but slaps the device in my hands. I request Watt's team's location, which is the stairwells/exits. I send Pestel to meet up with the other team in the exam room and turn my attention back to Rolfe. I need to keep him busy. "I'm going to need a report that covers every camera in this place from the time the Handmaid's appointment started through the time we've confirmed she was for sure not in the building."
The man's pale eyes go stormy. "I'm already halfway through watching the time frame in question," he tells me.
"You'll need to start over then," I responded evenly.
"Sir!"
I laugh humorlessly, "The pregnant Handmaid of a prominent Commander is missing Guardian, are you telling me you're not willing to do everything requested of you to find her?" I demand sternly.
He straightens up and looks super defensive. "No SIR! Of course not," he nearly shouts.
I stare at him for a second but finally nod my head. "Very good. I'll leave you to it. If you find anything of interest, walkie me" I say slipping his walkie on my belt." He looks sincerely confused, as I've just taken his only walkie from him, but I choose to leave him stewing over my stupid request and march off to find Watts.
I locate him in the second-floor stairwell.
"Blaine," he says, shaking my hand. "This is some batshit craziness, eh?" he asks, his accent thicker than usual.
"My Commander is fit to be tied that is for sure," I return.
He takes a step closer to me, "This is their second handmaid, right?" he asks.
"Yeah," I sigh. "The first one killed herself," I say honestly.
His eyes narrow. He doesn't need to know the details; he knows it is the Commander or his wife who's responsible for pushing the girl over the edge. "Seems like maybe this one's better off," he mumbles very softly.
He's brave, braver than me. I could shoot him where he stands for saying something like this. "Unless she was kidnapped, then all bets are off," I offer, but there is no support in the tone I use.
"Yeah, that would be worse," he agrees, looking a little green at the idea. Anyone taking a handmaid for the baby wouldn't worry about the handmaid once the baby was born.
I bring us back to the "work" we have to do. "What have we found?" I ask.
"Not a ton. The cameras were fitted with looping devices out in the hall where the medical suite is, down this stairwell, and though out the whole of the basement and loading dock area. Whoever did this, planned it. It had to be an inside job. All the staff has been taken over to headquarters for interrogation, but from what I hear nothing is coming out of it. May have been someone pretending to be staff. Sneak in, sneak out…"
I run a hand through my hair. "Show me the suite," I direct.
We climb the stairs to the fifth floor. I squeeze past Pestel who seems to be getting a rundown from another Guardian and into the medical room. The room is stuffy and smells vaguely of BO and cigarettes some from all the bodies jammed in it. I send everyone out except for Watt's and the team leader.
"Report." I direct the team leader.
The ginger-haired man nods and starts rattling off what they have looked out for and everything they haven't found. Good news as far as I'm concerned. "We're sure this is the correct suite? "I ask peeking around the corrugated plastic partition where the patient lies.
"Uh, yes sir," he says, and turns on a monitor to the right of the bed. On the small screen, a black-and-white image appears. I step forward to take a closer look. It's gray static with a black bubble in the middle and a smaller bubble inside that. In the upper right-hand corner of the screen, the text reads "Waterford and tag #1985. 5 weeks gestation." This our baby, I realize. My eyes go back to the small bubble, and I stare at it for a long moment. "Uh, could we get a few prints of this for the file?" I ask, trying desperately to keep my voice even and detached.
"Already done sir," he says handing me a file folder. I take it, and tuck it under my arm, but don't open it.
"You and your team take five," I instruct.
With a thank you, and a salute the team lead disappears and before long the hall outside the room is silent.
"Let's do another once over," I tell Watt's.
We split up, he takes the entry side of the room and I take the other. We start at the head of the exam bed and work our way toward the exit. We open the drawers, look under the bed, look behind pictures, and under the mattress. I run my hand around the frame of the plex glass divider while Watt's begins processing the changing area.
"Nick," Watt's calls, moving towards the exit. I join him at the door that has been propped open. He's running his finger over something. "Look at this," he mutters and looks over his shoulder and down the hall to ensure we're alone. I crouch down and look at what he's pointing out. It's a tiny piece of red tape. "Hum, interesting," I mutter under my breath.
"It's red and I don't believe in coincidences," Watt's says. "Did Ginger mention this?" he asks.
I shake my head, "Must not have gotten to it yet or they missed it, not sure which makes me happier," I grunt. I stand up and head into the hall.
"Me neither." Mark echos.
I go to the closest stairwell and push the door open. Mark and I stand on the landing for a second looking up one flight and down the other. "Let's split up. You go up and I'll go down." I suggest.
With a nod, he heads up the stairs. I make my way down the flight, my head on a swivel. I look at the treads and risers of the staircase, the walls, the baseboards, and the handrails. On the third floor, I find another small piece of tape. "Watt's, down here," I yell.
I point to the tape as he descends to the landing where I stand. "Definitely not a coincidence," he says.
We continue down, our eyes sweeping everything around us for more tape. At ground level we find another piece stuck to the door frame that leads to a dark tunnel.
"Do you know where this goes?" I ask. Mike pulls a map from his back pocket. He flips it over and finally nods. "Looks like it's a maintenance tunnel and it ends in a loading dock," he says, smiling.
I grab a flashlight for a rack where several hang, noting that one is already missing, and hand it to him before taking one for myself. It's slow progress down the tunnel with only light coing from our two flashlights, but eventually, we end up standing on the empty loading dock, looking out in the inky darkness of the night.
Mike jumps down and wanders around the grounds for a while, but there is nothing to find. He comes back and hoists himself up to stand next to me. "Nothing to prove she did or didn't come this way," he says, the coolness of the evening clouding on every expel of his breath.
I just stare up at the sky, thinking of June and the picture of our child tucked under my arm.
"What do you want to do about the tape?" he asks.
"Nothing," I sigh. "Why don't you write it up, it will be good for you," I state.
I hear him shuffle a bit on his feet. "Kinda feels wrong to profit off of this kind of thing," he says softly.
I snort, "As is with everything we do here. This location isn't going to give us anything seeing as the footage is fucked, take the win."
"Thanks, mate," he says, clapping me on the shoulder.
I let out a big sigh. "Come on, let's get this wrapped up."
The next several hours I spend complying information into my report for Pryce. I get copies of the looped security footage, pictures of the exam room and all of the tape marks, and finally the loading dock.
I lean back in the uncomfortable conference room chair and rub my gritty eyes. It's 4 am, in two hours I'll have been at work for 24 hours. I bypassed the be awake 24 hours yesterday morning, so I'm starting to get a bit punchy. My eyes slide over to the folder holding the ultrasound picture. I've avoided opening it since I sat down to do this report, avoiding the distraction, but I'm pretty much done now, and I need to decide if I'm going to include it in the report.
My fingers slide over the tabletop and find the edge of the manila folder. My index finger pushes the cover open revealing two identical small pictures inside. I pick up one of the flimsy photos and look down at it for a long time. The bubble doesn't look like a baby, even I know it's too early to see anything that would resemble a human, but I can't help but let my mind wander to what could be. I can't say why I think it's a girl, but when I imagine a child it's most definitely female. Blonde curls, maybe brown eyes. June's smile, and God-willing not my eyebrows. Not for a girl, that would just give her a lot of work when she becomes a teen. Birthdays and graduations make their way over my heart, I can even see her in her wedding dress. If all goes well, I'll never see any of those events, but the very idea that my child might have that life makes my chest swell with pride.
I look over my shoulder, out the conference window to be sure no one is watching, as I slip the picture into my shirt pocket under my coat. It's stupid to take this, if it was found on me out in my house I'll be beaten for information, then hung, but I can't help it. This might be all I ever have to prove this baby is real.
I take the folder with the second image and label it and close my laptop. Taking the walkie from my waistband I dismiss the teams and tell Pestel to meet me in the conference room.
I have everything packed up and ready when Pestel shows up. He looks as haggard as I feel. "Hey, if you could drop me off at headquarters, you can head home," I state, tossing the computer bag over one shoulder.
"Are you staying to meet with Pryce?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No, just need to drop this off. I can get a ride from there," I say as we head out the door and toward the van.
"You look like you're about to fall over man, let me wait and take ya back to the Waterford's," he offers.
I look over at him and offer a tired but genuine smile. "That would be great, thanks."
An hour later, I'm dragging myself up the driveway as the sun begins to rise. I'm glad to see that the vans have left, at least the day will start off quietly. At the top of the driveway, I consider the two staircases in front of me. I want nothing more than to fall face-first into bed, but I also know I won't sleep, plus I'm hungry. So I head up to the house.
The lights are all out except for those over the work table in the kitchen. I can see Rita standing there kneading. If I close my eyes, I can almost believe it's any other morning. I'll get my cup of coffee, and trade a few barbs with Rita for a while we wait for June to pad down the stairs so we can sit down for breakfast. But she won't be joining us today. My thoughts go to her for the millionth time, and I pray once again that she's safe, warm, and has enough to eat.
I come through the backdoor and Rita immediately abandons her work and runs over to me. She takes my hand her flour-covered one and pulls me back outside and behind the greenhouse.
"Is she okay?" she demands.
I squeeze her hand, and as I look at her notice she has a faint bruise blooming on her jaw.
"Yes, she okay, if she wasn't we'd know," I say distractedly. I reach up and tilt her head to look at the mark. "What happened?" I ask.
She shakes her head and steps back. "Nothing. She was just upset about the baby," she mutters, wiping the flour off her apron.
Serena.
"Where did they take her?" she asks brushing off my concern.
I shrug, "I don't know. I saw her before she was taken to the safe house, she was good. I'm going to try to find out where she went, but even if I manage it, I won't tell you, you know that right?" I ask gently.
She huffs, but nods.
"The less you know the better off you are," I say, even though it's redundant.
"Do they have any leads?" she asks changing the subject.
"I don't know. There wasn't anything at the clinic. It was clean, Praise be."
She looks relieved, but then concern creases on her forehead again. "When was the last time you slept?"
"I look that bad, huh?" I tease.
"You look like someone punched you in both eyes," she scoffs.
"It's been a while," I admit. "But I'm more hungry than tired."
She puts a hand on my shoulder and turns me towards the house. "Let's fix that then. I got fresh eggs and you can have my portion of coffee."
I pull her to a stop and into a hug. She places a hand on the back of my head and strokes it in a comforting gesture. "You're a kind soul Nick Blaine," she whispers.
I shake my head, "No, I'm selfish," I mutter. "I did this for myself."
She pulls back and looks at me with kind eyes and shakes her head. "You did it to protect two lives at a great cost to yourself, that isn't selfish, it self-sacrificing," she counters. "I'd give anything to change how I handled things with my son. I'd die in his place if I could. " I look down at this kind woman who's become a friend and confidant. If only I weren't complicit with the hellhole, we all live in now, maybe I could see my way to that conclusion, but that is my story. My stomach rumbles loudly, saving my tongue from having to form the truth.
Rita chuckles, even though it's a sad sound, and loops her arm through mine. "Come on, let me feed you. June would have my skin if I let her baby daddy die of starvation," she smiles and pulls me towards the kitchen.
Seconds, minutes, and hours, tick by so slowly. I can't focus and stomach acid has taken up permanent residents in the back of my throat. I trust Beth, but I don't know if I can trust her contacts and that is killing me.
I'm out in the driveway attempting to detail the Benz when one of the neighborhood Guardian wanders stops on the sidewalk outside our fence. "Hey Blaine," he calls out as he pushes past the gate.
"Bailey," I greet. This Guardian is a good guy, one of my black-market contacts. His popping up out of the blue is promising.
Guardian Bailey smiles and saunters calmly up the driveway. "I hear you're going to be on temporary family leave the assignment," he says. I've heard nothing of the sort, but I nod anyway. "Pinkerton gave me your travel docs to drop off." Pinkerton is Beth's last name from the before. Reaching into his coat he pulls out an envelope. "Your placement info is inside," he says evenly.
I take the envelope, "Thanks for bringing this by," I state.
"No problem. Pinkerton said it was time sensitive."
"It is," return vaguely. "Let Pinkerton know I appreciate the expedited passes," I state, holding out a hand.
"I'll let 'em know. I better be off," he says shaking my hand.
I watch him as he heads down the driveway, out the gate, and makes his way down the street before turning and bolting up to my apartment.
My fingers shake as I pull the contents. There is a transfer letter, a travel pass and the tiniest slip of paper folded in half. I fumble for a second but finally manage to unfold it. It only has three words and a string of numbers on it. "Boston Globe. Dock. 24437." This is it, where she is. I submit the info to memory and reach my hand into my pocket for my lighter. I flick the flint with my thumb and hold the flame to the sliver of paper and drop it in the kitchen sink.
I unfold the temporary transfer paper and read it over. This fraudulent document says I'm to provide coverage for a Guardian going on Family Leave. It is a very plausible event; I've even done it for real in the past.
For all of the bloodshed and cruelty Gilead has brought to the world they somehow got maternity and paternity leave right. Women are now expected to stop all work performed outside the home six weeks prior to birth and men were to take off four weeks before. Econo-families are not issued Martha's, so if no other family was available to stay with the woman during her "nesting" period, husbands were given leave to stay home so to insure someone was present to summons the midwife when the pains start. He was also given two weeks after to ensure his wife was providing a healthy start to the child's life. And all of this is provided with pay.
This is perfect.
I glance at my watch is 7 pm, just enough time to get this signed by the Commander and head out tonight. I make a beeline for the Commander's office. I knock and am granted access. I enter the room and hand the letter to Fred. I stand at attention as he halfheartedly reviews the forged temporary transfer documents. He quickly signs it and hands it back to me.
With the flick of his pen, he's released me to "other duties on Wednesdays and Saturdays between the hours of 8 pm until 8 am for the next six weeks or until dismissed." The hours are carefully designed to not interfere with my regular duties to the Commander, such a meetings or trips to the Government Center for his Council duties and other daily trips. Should extra travel be required during my assignment, Rita will be able to set up a car service, but it's unlikely to required as the Waterfords are currently in crisis mode and will be foregoing social events while dealing with their missing handmaid and child.
Fred sighs and leans back in his chair, it squeaks. He rubs his bloodshot eyes, then turns them towards the fire burning cheerfully in the fireplace. He looks forlorn, tried, and withdrawn. I don't know if he's slept at all since June's gone missing, but then again, none of us have. Everyone in the household has been affected. Serena is panicked and fearful she's lost "her baby", which has bought out her most delightful quality, tyrannical tyrant. She rants and raves, pacing the halls, yelling into the phone or at the Commander. She refuses to eat or drink. She even went as far as to throw the cup of tea Rita brought to her the morning across the dining room. It barely missed Rita's head.
The Commander sighs heavily. "You're lucky," he says, keeping his eyes on the flickering flames, "You'll be able to get a short reprieve from the stress here."
"My concern for the safety of the child will go with me, sir," I state, strangely meaning it. I've worried about the baby and June every second since they left my presence.
Fred finally looks at me, tilting his head. "Thank you for that Nick," he states.
I just nod, he doesn't expect a response. I shuffle on my feet and glance at the clock over the mantle. My new "shift" starts in just over thirty minutes. "Before I head out sir, is there anything you need from me?" I ask.
He shakes his head and looks back and fire. With a wave of his hand, I'm dismissed.
I go to the kitchen. Rita is there, standing at the sink, looking out the window. I join her at the counter. "I'm on family leave duties for the next few weeks," I offer. She looks over at me her eye's shining. She knows it's a ploy without me having to drop a single hint.
"What nights?" she asks.
"Wednesdays and Saturdays," I return.
A smile pulls on her lips, but she squashes it. She goes over to the fridge and pulls out a plate with meat and cheese she keeps sliced up for sandwiches. "Grabe the sliced, bread out of the bin, I'll make you a lunch," she offers. I do as she directs and, in a couple of minutes flat she has four sandwiches of chicken and swiss wrapped up in tea towels and is putting them in a paper sack along with two oranges and several ginger cookies. It's food for two.
I want to hug her, but I don't get the chance, she's shoving the bag in my hands. "Give her a hug for me," she mouths silently.
I nod. "See you tomorrow."
"I'll put a breakfast aside for you in the morning," she offers as I head towards the exit.
I pause at the door and smile at her. "Thanks, Rita, really," I state, and with that rush out the door and to the car.
My travel documents work without a hitch, but the drive is slow and painstaking. There are three new checkpoints set up along my route, all of them requiring a full search of the car. Pictures of June grace the plastic sleeves stitched to the arms of the Guardian's jackets and others are posted on signs, with directions to contact authorities if you spot the woman in the picture. A thirty-minute drive ends up taking me over an hour. I'm vigilant as I make my way across town, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror to ensure I'm not followed. When I finally pull around to the loading area, I sigh in relief and quickly get out to punch the memorized code into the keypad to the right of the garage door. The sound of the automatic opener seems too loud, and I glance around nervously at my surroundings. Thankfully the Boston Globe is a big outfit, no residential housing within two miles of here. The door grinds to a halt and quickly pull the Benz into the loading area.
On the loading dock, I find a button that lowers the door back down concealing the car from view. With the door finally secured, I listen for signs of life. The building is dead silent. The only exit from here is into a long dimly lit hallway. I make my way down it, my head swiveling back and forth, looking for signs of life. I call out to her, "June!"
Up ahead I hear the clank of something hitting the floor, then she appears from behind a piece of machinery. My heart beats quickly seeing her in one piece and unharmed. She quickly makes her way to me and I take her in my arms and my breath comes out in a sigh of relief. "Are you okay?" I ask. She moves away from me, heading the way I've just come. She upset. "What happened?" I ask my concern building.
"Nothing," she dismisses. But I don't believe her for a second. "Let's get out of here. Do I need to take anything? Food or should I take the water?" she says her voice anxious as she strides toward the exit.
Let's get out of here? I shake my head. "June you can't leave, they're looking for you everywhere," I tell her.
She keeps walking without looking back. "I don't care. I don't care," she states.
How does she not get what's happening right now? "You're not a Martha making a run for the border, you're a pregnant handmaid," I state evenly.
"I know that! Fucking Christ don't you think I know that?" she mutters, sounding irritated with me.
I don't understand this, why is she angry? "June what is going on?" I ask, trying to remain calm despite her clear irritation with me.
She finally stops and turns back to look at me. "You have to get me out of here," she demands.
I close the distance between us. "There is nowhere for you to go," I try explaining again.
Her face goes from hard to overwhelmed. Tears form in her eyes. "Do you know what this is? Do you know what happened here?" she asks. "It's a slaughterhouse," she says.
Oh, fuck. No wonder she wants out of here so badly. I hate that I can't help her flee this place. "You just have to be patient. We've gotten this far, things will calm down in a few weeks," I try to reason.
A tear slips from one of her eyes. "Weeks?" she asks her voice strangled.
I hate that I can't help her flee this place right now. I'd drive her to Canada myself if I thought we could get out of the city. "Yeah," I admit.
"Fuck, weeks?"
"Probably."
"How long does it take to get someone out of here?" she asks.
"That's not how this works," I state, but the words are iniquity. How to explain something I barely understand myself?
Fire build in her eyes. "Why don't you tell me how it works then," she demands.
"I don't know, I've never done this before. They don't tell me anything." I try to explain. She looks indignant. Irritation beings to push through my best-laid plans of staying calm. "Do you know how hard it was to find out you were here?"
"You don't know? You don't know. You …you just hand me over to Mayday and you don't know?" she demands hotly. "'Cause you want to pay the hero? Huh, Nick?"
This accusation stings. I've done all of this, in spite of the danger for her and her alone. "What the fuck are you talking about," my hurt but frustrated tone demands. "Who played hero at the stone like some fucking rebel Handmaid Commander? You made that choice!" This might be a bit of a low blow, but it's true. If she had done as she was told, and kept her head down, she would still be at the Waterford and not a hunted prize risking her life and our child's in a need to leave the country.
"It wasn't a choice," she said, tears in her voice.
Fuck, of course, it wasn't. Honestly, I'm not sure how I would have reacted if she had stoned that poor girl, the girl from the bridge. What I do know is that this conversation is spiraling out of control. More feeling than common sense. I don't like making life choices on feelings, and I feel like that is all I've done since I meet this woman.
"I'm trying to keep you alive. You and our baby," I state, passionately. "I'm helping you," I try to convince her. She turns and walks away. "I'm risking my life to help you. You're being so fucking stubborn," I say to her retreating form.
She stopped listening now, I can tell. "We're going north. We can drive north to Maine. I know where to go," she says as if is the most practical action to take.
"To Maine?" I ask in disbelief. "You're never going to make to Maine."
"Hannah. We have to get Hannah. You know where she is right?" she asks, continuing down the hall.
I follow her, "No, of course not." I return.
This doesn't phase her in the least. "Well, you're an Eye. Find out. Ask Serena," she demands. She still doesn't really understand how little power I have. If I had any power of any kind, we wouldn't be having this conversation, she's already be safely tucked into a house in Canada with her husband, Hannah, and happily expecting a new baby that she'd be free to keep and love. This, this place, this whole trusting the unseen, this is the best I'm able to do. She just refuses to accept it.
"Jesus," I mutter, wishing for the hundredth time I was the guy she thinks I am.
"Make her tell you," she says as if she's ordering off a drive-thru menu.
I try a new tactic, "June, it wouldn't make a difference. They'll be watching Hannah."
"I don't care."
"They probably have Guardians assigned to that house.
"Just find out where she is!" she yells.
I raise my voice to match hers. "You're safe here!"
"Stop saying that!" she growls, turning to face me in her fury.
"We're gonna get Hannah. We're gonna go north!"
I hate being this person, the person to shut down her dreams, being the voice of reality. "No. No, we're not. I'm sorry, we're not," I say, more calmly this time.
"Give me the keys," she then demands.
I mentally sigh. She doesn't give up. It's this tenacity that makes her, her, but fuck if she isn't annoying right now. "What?" I ask in disbelief.
"Give me the keys," she says again, this time holding her hand out to me.
I look down at it, then laugh. I wish I thought she was kidding.
"Give 'em to me!" she shouts.
The debt in my head is short. Give them to her or she walks out of here once I leave and I never know what happens to her. I reach into my pocket and pull out the keys and slap them into her outstretched hand. She doesn't even acknowledge me and turns on her heels and marches toward the loading bay.
I watch her and a fear I didn't know I could feel races up my spine. Out there in the world, she won't have protection. I call out to her. "Wait, June…" She stops and turns to face me as I take my sidearm from its holster. I release the clip to ensure its fully loaded, and old the weapon out to her, hilt first. This seems to calm her a bit before she turns and continues toward where the car is parked.
I feel as though I'm going to throw up. I follow her out to the dock, watch as she opens the garage door, descends the small set of stairs to the ground, gets in the car, and puts the gun on the dash. She turns over the engine. She then looks up at me through the windshield. Our eyes are locked and for the first time tonight, I see her fear. She's hidden it till now, choosing to focus on her anger instead. "Please don't," I say, my voice soft. I'm sure she can't hear me, but her deminer changes. She beings hitting the steering wheel, over and over again until she finally gives up and gets out of the car. Relief washes over me, but this doesn't feel like a win, just a stalemate. I go over and close the garage door as she makes her way back up the stairs.
She drops the gun on a worktable a turn to me. I go to her, putting a hand on her arm. When she looks up at me, I still see residual anger on her face. I bring my mouth down towards hers and her hand slides up my neck to my hair. My lips have yet to touch hers when she pulls my head back by my hair. Her other hand unzips my pant and forces its way between folds of fabric to grip me. I allow it. I understand her need right now; it's been the same all along, but maybe even more profoundly so at this very moment. She is a woman devoid of all choices but this one, she wants to be in control of it.
Her hand works its away along me, sparking my desire. I walk her backward, toward a large cylindrical container and push her against it before finally finding her mouth with mine. We are hands and mouths and teeth. What we do next is not without a sense of tenderness, but the act itself is gritty and needy.
We spend the next hours lost in each other to the point of exhaustion. At one point we've just reached our peaks when she's comes back at me for more. I'm depleted at this point, nearly raw from what I can only describe as marathon sex. "I can't. I can't," I pant. She smiles coyly. "Try." And I do.
The sun has been in the sky for at least half an hour when we finally open the sack of food Rita has sent. I hand her a sandwich and a cookie before taking one for myself and leaning back against the sofa. We're naked save a brown and black blanket draped haphazardly over our laps. She sinks into the sandwich, groaning appreciatively as she chews. I watch as she chews her eyes closed.
"So, that was…new," I state through a smile.
Her eyes flick open and she smiles up at me. "New?" she asks.
I shrug, "Intoxicating, thrilling, incredibly sexy," I add taking a bite of my food. "You know, all the synonyms for mind-blowing you can think of."
She laughs. "Pregnancy hormones," she states, shoving the cookie in her mouth.
I nod, "Well, I'm a fan," I laugh.
She chuckles.
My watch beeps, signaling the time. I've got to leave soon to make it back to the Waterford's on time
"Already?" she asks.
"Yeah," I return. I stretch and groan, both from irritation that I must leave, but also at the pull of sore muscles in my back. I push myself off the floor and feel every muscle in my legs. I hiss and run my hands over my thighs.
"Sore?" she asks playfully.
I give her a faux look of indigitation and start looking for underwear. Every step I take on my stiff muscles is robotics. "You know every guy from the time we realize we have a penis dream of a night like last night, funny I never consider the consequences," I state, pulling on both underwear and pants.
"So, your sorry?" June asks, standing up and draping the blanket around her.
"I didn't say that" I snort, finding my t-shirt and putting it over my head.
June holds out the dark navy button-up in one hand and my tie in her other. I take the shirt and slide it on. As I do up the buttons, she closes the gap between us and loops my tie over my head. She pulls up the collar of my shirt and adjusts it before starting to form a knot. I hold my chin up until she's done, then reach a hand up to check her work. The knot is neat, and the tails are perfectly aligned. "Nice work," I murmur.
"I learned how to tie one in college. I dated the TA from my English Lit class," she coos.
"I definitely don't want to hear about that," I tease playfully, pulling her to me by her hips. Her arms snake up over my shoulder and a hand goes into my hair.
"So Saturday hu?" she asks, referring to my next free day to come out here.
"Unless they can get you out sooner, yeah," I say evenly.
She smiles, but it's a sad smile. "It's going to be a while though, isn't it?" she asks rhetorically. It seems a sex marathon is all she needed to come to terms with the reality of her situation.
"Yeah, I'm sorry." I offer.
She drags a hand down from my neck to pay with my tie. She runs the faux silk fabric between her fingers over and over, as she ponders what that is going to mean for her here in this place. This slaughterhouse, as she called it. "Can you bring me some books and another change of clothes when you come on Saturday," she requests.
"Of course. Strategic military or fictional military," I ask referring to my very small selection of books.
She laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. "How about a little of both," she suggests.
I nod in agreement, and we fall silent. We are only ever saying goodbye it seems. She pulls my tie, brings her mouth to mine. The kiss is soft, sweet, and lingering. "Stay safe," she whispers against my lips, our parting mantra.
"You too," I return, rubbing her abdomen where our child lies. She smiles at this, and I peck her lips once more for good measure before untangling myself from her arms.
I turn and head for the stairs that lead down to the factory floor where the car is parked. I pause at the top of the stairs and look up at her. Her hair is bed-tousled, her lips red from kissing, her small frame wrapped up in a blanket, just a knee pocking out. I fix the image in my mind. I will, after all, need to live on it until I come back again.