The Victor's Son
Prologue: A Stranger
I sit down on the front steps of the house, once again rejected. Rue has not yet said yes to my pleas to dance with her for one, only one, song. I can still hear the music creeping through the shutters and leaking from under the front door. And while everyone else twirls and dances and laughs inside—including Rue—I sit and battle with my emotions. I'm such a mess.
My father would know what to do, or so I can tell from the stories. He always knew what to do in situations like these.
But all I remember of him are two blue-grey eyes. My mother tells me stories of him every night, yet I just can't put together the broken pieces that are said to be my father.
He was brave.
Oh, he was so handsome…
The scum of the earth.
You have his eyes.
That man stood me up twelve times!
Yes, he was a good man.
How can I possibly put these puzzle pieces together into one person?
I have figured out one true thing of my father: he was famous. At school, everyone who doesn't know me asks my name, whisper like they've heard rumors. And when I tell them, the boys' eyes get wide and the girls nearly faint.
"Timothy Odair."
I guess they've heard more stories than I have.
I act aloof, seductive even, for that's what they seem to expect. They all love me—I've seen the notes the girls pass in class commenting on my dark honey-colored hair or my ocean-colored eyes, and how much I look like him. How would they know? I've gone out with at least twenty of the girls in my small school. It's my duty, apparently. They all expect it of me…. And it's almost how I hold myself together. If I don't act like the ideal playboy, some weak part of me aches like something needs to go there, like an identity, a father. A mother that isn't crazy. I want to be more than a shell.
But now, at this party where I wish more than anything to dance with Rue Mellark, I am completely clueless and wishing there was someone who could point me in the right direction. The only person I would trust to is dead.
It begins raining, so I sullenly walk inside to where I have to pretend I'm having fun. I see Katniss and Peeta Mellark whirl across the floor like they are the only two in the room. It gives me a lump in my throat to think their daughter is utterly uninterested in doing the same with me. I take a seat at the kitchen table, covered with different bottles of liquor that I'm not allowed to drink yet, and remove a length of string from my pocket. My nimble fingers knot it quickly and tightly, my disappointment beginning to melt. I pull one end of the rope and all the knots disappear.
I'm getting ready to start the knotting sequence again when there is a weak knock at the door. When no one answers, I'm forced to stand up and open the door to the dark and rain-soaked outside.
A man with blue-grey eyes stands at the open frame. His honey-colored hair is matted down with rain, and a crescent-shaped scar marks his neck. I am about to tell him to leave, he has the wrong house, when suddenly, all in the room turn and stare. My mother drops to her knees and covers her ears. Katniss and Peeta begin to cry, while Rue and Gale stare blankly, almost uncomprehending.
The man pushes straight past me, past every frozen person, until he reaches my mother. He takes her head in his hands and mutters,
"Annie, it's okay, Annie, I'm here…"
Dead silence.
And then a drunk Haymitch Abernathy stumbles out of the bathroom, vomit down the front of his shirt, and takes a good once-over of the man hunched on the floor beside the insane woman who is my mother. And without any sign of shock, no swooning or crying or slapping, he slurs:
"Finnick Odair?"
