Conversation · Joyce Messier

"I don't think it was a stroke."

"If you have doubts about your brain's blood supply, well... that's what we call a serious matter."

"Don't worry. He'll be fine. It's all related to his unusual medical episode." He opens his notebook. "Continue, please. He has questions."

"Don't worry. He'll be fine. It's all part of his unusual medical condition." He opens his notebook. "Continue, please. He has questions."

Don't worry. It'll get better when you die.

"Fuck it... Let's get back to work."

She quietly nods. "You have my full cooperation."

"I called my station's lazareth and they told me to 'drink less.'"

"Drinking less sounds like a great start!" She nods approvingly, but without condescension. "Go on -- you have my full cooperation."

"No one lives forever, baby."

"Such a tough guy." She gives you a crooked smile. "You have my full cooperation, tough guy -- and that of the Wild Pines Group."

"A stroke could partially explain the memory trouble you've been experiencing."

"Huh, what do you mean?"

"You stood there for the longest time! And it looked like you were having trouble forming a sentence."

"My mother had a stroke. She exhibited similar problems -- although not quite like yours."

"Actually, I might have suffered a stroke. I'm not sure."

"Oh, dear, that is serious. If this is in any way dangerous for your health, we can always resume our conversation later."

"What situation? I don't remember any situation."

"Of course." She bows slightly. "You have my full cooperation -- and the cooperation of the Wild Pines Group."

"No problem, let's resume normal, professional relations."

"Of course. You have my full cooperation -- and the cooperation of the Wild Pines Group."

"You're back. Good." She takes a sip from her silvery thermal cup. "What can I help you with?"

"You're back. Good." She looks at the ripples on the water's surface. "What can I help you with -- not an umbrella, I hope. I don't need one myself, you see..." She pats her wet raincoat.

All around you, rain keeps falling down. On the wooden boards she's standing on, and on the water around you...

"No need. Tell me something."

"Of course."

"Neither do I." (Pat your similarly wet cloak.)

"Very rugged," she nods in approval. "Good choice. Now, I suspect you had questions -- nothing like talking to pass a rainy day, am I right?"

"I could use a coat like that. The rain is freezing."

"Sadly I need this one myself. It's hydrophobic, repels water, almost magically. The company makes them for offshore platform personnel. Very sturdy."

She gives the material another pat. "What I can do for you is answer some questions. Nothing like talking to pass a rainy day."

"You're back. Good." She takes a sip from her silvery thermal cup. "What can I help you with -- at this late hour?"

"Answer me a question."

"Of course. That's what I'm here for."

"It's night. Don't you ever sleep?"

"Matter of fact, I don't." She takes another sip.

(Better not to poke further) "That's good. This way you can answer me some questions."

"Why is that?"

"I have a medical condition of my own -- nothing unusual, though. I'm old you see."

Didn't she have another medical condition?

"Old, huh? I think I have that too."

"Don't worry. It's curable -- with questions. Ask me some, it'll help pass this night."

"No you're not. You look young."

"Thank you -- I do what I can to remain presentable. Now, ask me some questions. It'll help us pass the night."

"Were you not overexposed? Does that not cause insomnia?"

"Very keen of you, officer. I do also have saudetic syndrome from overexposure to the pale. It makes me roost in the night. Like an owl."

"I almost never sleep anymore... if I do it's for an hour, four tops" She suppresses a yawn. "Go ahead -- ask me some questions. They are the only cure."

Her smile is bitter. There is no cure.

"It's a medical thing. It's called... old. I'm old you see."

A striking woman leans against the cabin top of her sailing boat, smiling as you approach. Her green raincoat glistens with droplets, a silk scarf is tied around her throat.

"Good morning, officers. I'm Joyce." She extends her hand in greeting.

"Joyce L. Messier. I represent the board of Wild Pines -- the owners of the harbour. You gentlemen must be from the RCM..." She steps closer and holds out her hand over the railing.

Don't shake her hand.

"I'm afraid my partner doesn't shake hands. Please don't take offence."

"None taken, officer." They exchange a brief handshake. "Either way, I'm glad you're both here now."

"I was dispatched to handle a strike, not a lynching. Anything I can do to assist the RCM in this matter, I will, gladly."

"That is good to hear, madam." He opens his notebook. "My colleague will take the lead on this interview. I should let you know that he's recovering from an unusual medical episode -- very unusual -- but I can assure you of his ultimate competency."

There's a trace of irony in his voice. Mischief even. This is a tactic.

It happens quicker than a shooting star -- but did the lieutenant just wink at you?

"How interesting." She turns to you, unfazed. "I wish you a swift recovery. In the meanwhile, you have my full cooperation. And the full cooperation of the Wild Pines Group."