Sovereign: Part Three

It was Monday again.

Amy wondered if she should even continue going to Mrs. Faye's manor. She felt like she had intruded too much in her burning curiosity to uncover information. After all, these weren't her stories to tell, they were Mrs. Faye's to be told or not be told. She'd learned that lesson in college when she aspired to interview Paulette Nils, a Black transgender woman who managed to escape a Sovereign reeducation camp. The email Amy received had been respectful but firm in its refusal.

"While I admire your dedication to telling these stories, some stories are not yours to tell. I've had plenty of offers by producers and publishers to sensationalize my story, most of them being white and cis-gender and having no true idea what my experience was like. I prefer to tell my own unabridged story, not having it trimmed and sterilized of all the things that might offend people - not that I'm accusing you of wanting to do such."

Amy had to self-educate herself about privilege and how prevalent a concept it is even in today's world. Even her countless trips to America to take in tours of the Sovereign Museum could barely paint a picture of what it was truly like to live in 2030 Sovereign America. No matter how many accounts she read or how many talks given by survivors she attended, she wouldn't understand the full weight of the oppression. She was living in the post-war period of opportunity and rebuilding, where she knows that the oppressive power had toppled and democracy had returned. These Americans had no idea what would become of them or if they would survive to see the end of the tyranny.

She arrived at the Faye estate right at 2pm. She had dressed well - a business suit with professional trim and her hair meticulously pinned in a bun at the base of her head. To any outsiders, she could be mistaken for an accountant or lawyer. She even took an old briefcase with her, which held her Scriblet and purse.

"Oh, do come in. We were just having our tea." Joan ushered Amy inside. "Our chef made a wonderful tomato bisque and some cheese on toast."

Joan was more chipper than Amy remembered her being. Perhaps, the few times they met before had been a trial run, Joan was still testing the waters for piranhas.

As Amy entered the kitchen, she overheard voices from the parlor, particularly of a man's she didn't recognize.

"For hell's sake, Mum! You need this operation! Getting a new kidney is barely surgery these days! They do it laparoscopically!" the man yelled derisively.

"I am not leaving the house! I don't want to be in some goddamn hospital where they can poke and prod me all fuckin' day long!" Mrs. Faye screamed.

"Hospitals aren't like they were in the States, Mum! They're the complete opposite of Sovereign hospitals..."

"What were Sovereign hospitals like?" Amy asked Joan as she sat down beside her. The kindly chef served her a bowl of steaming hot bisque and a plate with the cheese-on-toast.

"Dreadful. I spent a week in one once." Joan answered soberly. "All of the doctors were men. The nurses were some evil old hags that actually supported the Sovereign takeover. There was no implied consent with them. They did whatever procedure was prescribed even if you were kicking and screaming."

"What were you in the hospital for?" Amy asked.

Joan pursed her lips, averting her eyes. "Believe me. You don't want to know."

Amy did want to know, but wouldn't force it out of her.

The man who'd been in the rash argument with Mrs. Faye came into the kitchen, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He was olive-skinned with curly brown hair, his resemblance to Joan unmistakable. There were also traces of their father about them, like the angle and slope of their noses, but they each had different eye colors.

"She's unmovable. So goddamn stubborn." he said wearily. He jumped slightly as he noticed Amy at the kitchen island. "Oh, hello. Didn't know we had company."

"This is Amy Hartwell. She's interviewing Mum about...well, you know." Joan told him. "This is my brother, Jerry. Second oldest of the bunch."

Jerry looked at Amy with an air of distrust. "Interviewer, huh?"

"For historical knowledge. Not for profit or fame." Amy offered.

"Heard that before." Jerry admitted, sitting down beside Joan.

"Her background check cleared," spoke Joan, who sipped her tea. "Nothing in her past to suggest she has ulterior motives."

Amy didn't remember consenting to a background check, but she supposed it was par for the course since Marigold Faye was well-known (and notorious, to the remnant Sovereign officers still in hiding.)

"It's been...a slow process. I'm trying to take it at her pace. The last thing I want to cause further trauma." Amy informed them.

"If it makes you feel any better, she's not that keen on us asking about it either. And we was kids living in that hellhole." Jerry responded. "But she took most of the abuse. Wish I could have killed the bastard myself."

"He would have just been replaced by Peterson, that lecherous old cretin. Absolutely hated when he visited." Joan hissed. She saw Amy's confusion. "Crestwell's partner-in-crime, Willie Peterson."

"I heard that someone referred to Peterson as Crestwell's first wife and they were hung from that big oak tree near Riverside." Jerry stated.

"That wouldn't surprise me. He was a raging homophobe. Hated gays more than he hated people of color." Joan bitterly remarked. "He wrote a manifesto, but I couldn't read but a few pages before puking." She caught a glimpse of Amy's curious expression. "No, I don't think it's ever been uploaded. It doesn't need to be. It was truly vile. No one needs to read that tosh."

"It was required reading for school boys." Jerry explained. "Even at that time, surrounded by that shit...I knew that it just felt...so wrong."

"Girls couldn't read anything but cookbooks and knitting patterns. But we felt it. We felt all that hate. In worse ways than you can imagine." Joan added.

***

Amy sat across from Mrs. Faye while she was busy cross-stitching. She skillfully worked with the needle and thread while mumbling under her breath. Amy felt awkward watching her, wondering if she should just leave her to her craft, but then Mrs. Faye spoke up.

"Well? You gonna ask me some questions or what?" she asked. "It can't be an interview without some talking."

"Er...did you know what was going to happen before the takeover?" Amy asked.

Mrs. Faye chewed on her answer for a few moments, her hands stopping in the middle of a stitch.

"Honestly, I was trying to ignore the signs." Mrs. Faye said gravely. "But the world was at my fingertips. I'm not sure if the cellphone was the best or worst invention ever. They had a term...'doom-scrolling'. We'd all open news apps and social media bullshit and scroll through the headlines. The worst part is how apathetic you become when terrible shit keeps happening. It becomes so...exasperating. It's like carrying a giant boulder on your back and someone keeps adding stones to the burden.

Now...when those apps suddenly broke and all Internet access went dark...that was the real panic."

Amy had heard of this event. Scholars were calling it the "Great Internet Blackout of 2030," or more colloquially, "Dark Summer". The Internet had been severely restricted all across the United States by an unknown entity. Sometime during this period, an armed insurrection was happening in the Capitol. There had been a conspiracy group operating from within the government itself - Congressmen, police, National Guard, and even secretaries of state had enacted a plan to take over the government. The Sovereign Nation Militia managed to kill all opposition, including the President. They had announced this in a harrowing State of the Union Address in which the newly instated Sovereign Counsellor Crestwell had stood behind a podium holding a machine gun. The bodies of the previous Cabinet had been arranged in a neat row, all posed with their arms crossed over their chests.

"We are returning America to its roots as a sovereign nation, as a white nation, and a Christian nation. God has blessed us once again. We are now leaders of the Sovereign States of America and we will restore glory in the Lord's name."

Amy had watched the recording of the broadcast, wanting so much to believe it was something from a TV show. But it was real. This was a real event of history. Those were real bodies in the video, the last democratic leaders of a united country.

"The night that broadcast came on, I was waiting for any of them to jump up and say 'boo!'" Mrs. Faye admitted. "Yeah, it was all a joke, a terrible, terrible joke. A joke that would get them all impeached. But it wasn't a joke. I also realized that we were stuck. I lived in a shitty one-room apartment, working an awful job to pay for nursing school. There was no way I could buy a plane ticket. I barely had enough money to feed myself or pay rent. And in that moment, I would have loved having just money troubles to worry about. Because that I meant I was still free...that I still had choice."

"What happened after that?" Amy wondered.

Mrs. Faye grimaced. "What else could I do? I went back to work. But then there was no work. My boss had up and taken the entire fucking payroll and disappeared. I wanted to be mad, but he was Hispanic and had a family. Wouldn't you do the same thing if your skin color was about to be illegal?"

She had started to cry, but it wasn't the erratic wailing she had done last time.

"I stayed at home. I compulsively cleaned. I couldn't go online to do any nursing school work - hell, it was out of the question if I couldn't pay for it. It became so damn quiet at night, I wondered if they were already sending out the death squads. But no. Most of that apartment block had been rented by people of color, so they were getting the hell out of dodge.

Then one night, maybe three weeks after the broadcast...I heard gunshots in the streets outside. Curiosity got the better at me and I looked out the window. An honest-to-God gang war was happening outside...then I saw that the shooters were all dressed in the same clothes with masks on. They were winning. It went quiet again...and then I heard banging...the banging of fists on doors. Then the doors were being rammed open. I heard screaming and sounds of a scuffle. I went into my bathroom and shut the door. I thought I was having a goddamn heart attack, I was so fuckin' scared. Then I heard the front door being broken open. I was shaking so hard and praying to a god I didn't believe in to save me. But they found me. I screamed my lungs out as they grabbed me."

Mrs. Faye took a few breaths. Silence fell for a couple of minutes while she stitched.

"What did they do?" Amy asked her.

"They...were nice to me. Patronizing, more like. Like I was a lost kitten or child. They were all like 'we're taking you to safety' and 'you'll be safe with us', kind of bullshit. And I always liked to think I'd be a tough-as-nails bitch who didn't take no shit from anybody but...fear makes you complacent. These men had power now. The power to ruin me, rape me, and kill me. From then on, it was survival. I pretended to be a fuckin' damsel in distress, I'm ashamed to say."

"You were adapting. You were trying to survive. There's no shame in that." Amy commented.

"Oh, there was shame. Plenty of it. They betted on it, shame. The niceties stopped when I was put in a cell with a bunch of other women. White women. We might not have been shot on sight, but we certainly weren't safe. They subjected us to humiliating exams, testing that we were actually women, if any of us were virgins. Some of them just undressed you because they could. They weren't allowed to do anything but look, but that was shaming enough. I was stripped naked and the man pointed out every single imperfection on my body. My thighs were too big, my nipples too large and too dark, my belly was flabby. They called me all the demoralizing names they could. Slut, fatass, whore, bitch. One of them called me Chewbacca because of my pubic hair and that he wouldn't fuck me for a million dollars."

Mrs. Faye smirked at Amy's grimace.

"Don't worry, I paid them back in kind eventually. There were repercussions for any Adjudicator who messed with a concubine."

Mrs. Faye yawned.

"Sorry, honey. Dialysis and pain pills kicked my ass today." she admitted.

"It's alright, Mrs. Faye. We can stop here." Amy agreed.