Chapter Two

"Redacted"

Chapter Two - Redacted

"Mr. Blaine [REDACTED], discovered in some of the remaining documents left behind after Commander Pryce's untimely passing in the infamous Red Center terrorist bombing. The [REDACTED] was found to have [REDACTED] and after reconditioning, the subject in question was immediately returned to The Waterford's home. Mr. Blaine expressed concerns about Mr. Waterford's [REDACTED]. No further questioning of Mr. Blaine will be conducted at this time, but we will continue to monitor Mr. Blaine's movements and interactions with [REDACTED] and bring him in for follow up if required."

Eve Donovan loved a good mystery.

Out of the endless stacks of files that her father had presented to her to review for her future marital prospects, her eyes ravenously traced the black lines back and forth.. thick, opaque, black lines that continued page after page within the manila folder dossier that laid on the Parnian executive desk before her. So many uniform lines, lines concealing highly classified information and details about one Mr. Nick Blaine. 

Tilting her head to the side to examine it from a different angle, maybe, just maybe, the uniform lines would skew or shift to magically reveal more information..like one of those books she had as a child, filled with various optical illusions. She adored those books. Start by staring super closely at the seemingly innocuous 2D pattern on the page, be sure to keep your eyes focused as you slowly pull the book away from your face, and magically a 3D image will begin to form, conjuring itself out of thin air. 

illusion (noun)
il·lu·sion
(1): a misleading image presented to the vision

Eve decided that it was more like an abstract piece of artwork, really, rather than an intelligence file. A piece of artwork that she decided would fit perfectly in her personal art gallery, right next to the 1921 "Composition en rouge, jaune, bleu et noir" Piet Mondriaan that her father had obtained for her…in the after.

These files were usually dreadful to consume. Illegal for her to consume as well, but in Eve's mind, the law that banned women from reading or writing was a technicality that did not apply to her. Like jaywalking in the before time, was that REALLY a crime? After spending just a few moments combing over the words, black lines, and the photos compiled..not bad on the eyes, either..she promptly closed the file.

"Him," she declared, "I'll marry him."

Before/Then - Summer 2014

Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce
Too many bowls of that green, no Lucky Charms
The maids come around too much
Parents ain't around enough
Too many joy rides in daddy's Jaguar
Too many white lies and white lines
Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends
Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends
-Frank Ocean, "Super Rich Kids"

How did "having a few friends over" always end up in droves of strangers coming and going in and out of her house as they fucking pleased? The backyard of the Donovans' oceanfront cottage had become the backdrop for the night's festivities, not that different from any other night. Multiple strings of white lights were strung strategically starting at one fence post to the opposite, in multiple rows, creating an open lit ceiling that hung below a view of the breathtaking dusk skyline, a gradient of colors ranging from purple to orange. 

19-year-old Eve, known as Evie, (close friends only, please and thank you, where the fuck are they by the way?) took a hit from the Cherry Pie pre-roll, inhaled deeply and upon exhaling, blew out an enormous cloud of smoke, finding herself mesmerized with the gracefulness with which it danced in the air. A giddiness slowly emerged as her bloodshot eyes became noticeably heavier. She couldn't help but giggle as she passed it onto whoever was next in the circle… oh look, it's a stranger. Fuck it, the more, the merrier. The more company, the less loneliness. 

The euphoria slowly rushed through her bloodstream; she always loved that feeling, the instant that the high started taking over, temporarily washing away all of the hurt. The hurt always returned, but she could always count on finding something that would take her to a numb, unfeeling, wonderful state of being. You know what, fuck this shit. She had to stop thinking about him, so she grabbed the nearest lighter, rolled herself another blunt, and puffed him far, far away as she lost herself inside the crowd full of strangers inhabiting her backyard.

The After/Present Day

"Yes, Warren… it certainly has, oh yes, I agree it certainly has been too long since we've gotten the families together. I don't believe we've seen each other since shortly after Angela was born. Yes. Uh huh. Time flies, surely does. Well listen, Commander to Commander, and friend to friend, you know how selective my Evelyn has been about when it comes to marriage," Commander Samuel Donovan chuckled as he continued his phone conversation with Commander Putnam; they were old colleagues, but residing on opposite coasts made staying in touch rather difficult.

However, call it a stroke of luck, plain old destiny, or ultimately By His Hand (actually we'll just go with the latter as it sounds the most pious), it just so happened that Warren lived in the same district and sat on the very same council as Commander Blaine. Eve's father strongly felt that forcing a meeting between his Evelyn and this Commander Blaine would certainly expedite his little girl's marital proceedings.. and truth be told, he wanted his Evelyn married sooner rather than later, before she developed selective amnesia about agreeing to, fingers crossed, the forthcoming nuptials and finally selecting a husband.

"So, Warren...after reviewing with and reading to her (wink wink) from the many files you sent by courier, which again, I cannot thank you enough for, I am happy to say my little girl has taken an interest in Commander Nick Blaine, who I have gathered, is one of your colleagues. Yep. Well. Uh huh. Yes. Yes, I did...I certainly took note of the rather large number of redactions, however, his current status as a Commander is not in limbo, and I saw nothing as of recent that would be too concerning. Pretty clean record. Served and aided on the front lines of The Takeover, I think he'd be a fine choice to marry my Evelyn. Yes. Yes, I think that's a good idea. Would be great to catch up with you, and you can take a break from the lesser coast of Gilead and bring Commander Blaine with you. Alright, okay, sounds great...will do. Thanks Commander. Talk soon." 

Eve could have sworn that she remembered Warren being closer to the West Coast, but from what she gathered from her father, if she married this guy, it was gonna be The Area Formerly Known As Boston or bust. She knew that she didn't have many options left at all. However, if left to her own devices, she'd never marry. All she needed was herself; needing others was a weakness that she was proud to have ridden herself of.

Staying and living in California, despite frequent rebel conflict, was a choice that her father had made. It had always been their home, and always would be.

It was important to her father, stopping the Rebels, especially with lethal force. She couldn't wrestle with thoughts about that for too long, it was still too much.

Seven years later, and it still hurt just as bad, maybe even a little bit worse.

BEFORE/THEN: Spring 2014

"I just don't fucking get you, you know? You're okay with this hypocritical bullshit? With complete and utter sexism? Going back to unequal rights? Human slavery? That's you? I thought you were smarter than this, Evie. I mean, what the fuck? If you don't say or do something right now, this fucking moment in time, you'll be fucking sorry one day. I know you. I know this isn't you."

He stood in the rain outside of the driver door side of Eve's brand new Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUV, talking through the small crack of her window that she rolled down.

"It's my family. I love my family. I love you. I can't believe that I'm having to make this choice. You shouldn't ask me to, but neither should my family..and yet, you both fucking are. So here I am, choosing the lesser of two evils. I can't be without my family, Matt, you know that. I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore, I love you and I don't want to fight with you, but we can't be together. I can't lose them," she couldn't believe the words had come out of her mouth, and yet she kept going, "I don't want to lose you either. This is the hardest fucking choice I'm being asked to make, and I...I have to go. I'm really sorry, Matt."

Eve quickly rolled up the window so that he wouldn't see her break. Even though her windows were up, he screamed at her at the top of his lungs, and she heard every word. Every haunting word.

"Your dad is part of the reason we are going to lose this country, do you know that? Do you know what he's riling up his base and his fellow politicians with? What he's encouraging them to do? You're choosing the wrong side of history, Evie! Evie! Are you fucking serious, Evie? Just throw everything we had away? Fuck you Evie! You're gonna be so fucking sorry one day. Mark my words. I'll pray for you Evie, you're gonna need it."

Eve pulled herself together enough to focus on driving home. As she pulled out of her parking space at the mall, she watched him through her rearview mirror as he stared at her with sorrow and disbelief. She couldn't believe she'd done it. She broke up with him. Knots began forming in her chest and her breaths became more rapid and needy. Her chest felt heavier. Maybe God was punishing her, because the next song to shuffle play from her car's sound system was "Stormy Weather," by Etta James. Well, doesn't this just look like a scene taken straight from a fucking movie, she thought to herself. 

He'd done it. The thing he set out to do, which was to prove her wrong, and to prove that he was exactly right to call her out on her bullshit, her sitting in silence and doing nothing while the country was being turned upside down. He'd said the thing out loud. The thing that she knew would ultimately come to pass. She was so fucking sorry, she was so fucking sorry everyday. Unfortunately for Eve, it's just not possible to deliver "Please accept my deepest apology" cards to the dead.

The After/Present Day

"So Commander Putnam, I knew there was some talk about a wedding and all, and I definitely you know, want to do my part, but um, isn't this a little... I don't know.... fast?" Nick was nervous and he couldn't hide it. Holy shit, he was in trouble; if he couldn't control his emotions, he would be fucked. Get it together.

"Sure. Fast by some standards, but she's twenty-six, son. You won't have as much time as you would typically with a younger wife. You've got one year before being issued a handmaid, and ahem, from personal experience son, that is a situation that can become very, very, complicated, and can have serious consequences if handled incorrectly. Yes, in my opinion, it's just best to make sure within the first year, she's pregnant, then you're in the clear, and you can also... keep all of your limbs intact." 

Nick tried not to stare at the obvious absence of one of the Commander's hands, an absence created by his illicit affairs with his handmaid. His wife had requested the harshest punishment, so one hand was forced to wave goodbye to the other. Okay, seriously Nick, now is not time for corny jokes.

Putnam continued, "So be ready to leave at 0700 hours, two days from now. The current Gilead hold over there is surrounded by rebels and insurgents, so you know, pack appropriately. Oh! And ring, don't forget to get a ring. Eve's quite something, so the flashier, the better. Alright, I've got to be home within thirty minutes or Naomi is going to force us to start attending confessionals again, and I fucking refuse."

"I'm sure you do, Commander," Nick answered. "I'm sure you do."

Nick took a deep breath, and rubbed his face with his hands while clenching his jaw. 

Holy fucking shit, I can't get out of this. 

June. Nichole. June. Nichole.

Help.