Haymitch sat on the floor in front of the hearth, a weak excuse for a fire crackling hungrily for the kindling his family couldn't afford. It wasn't uncommon for people in the Seam to have little though. His father heaved himself through the door and sank into his worn chair. A cloud of coal dust drifted around him and he coughed violently. Haymitch covered his mouth and nose reflexively with his sleeve. By nine years old he'd understood that his father didn't like the boys around him while he was covered in coal dust. So it made little difference to Haymitch as he moved from the fire and into the small kitchen his mother occupied. Tinsley, who was only five, ran to Sage who stopped him with a firm, "No." Tinsley stopped and balled his pudgy little fists at his side.
"Why?" he demanded in a sharp little voice. Sage sighed.
"Not right now, Tinsley. Later, I promise." Tinsley ran to the bedroom we shared and slammed the door as hard as he possibly could.
"Ah, Rose… I hate to do that to him. I hate to see that look on his face." He said as Haymitch returned to his homework. He knew the deal already. He'd once been in the same confused place as Tinsley.
"So why do it, Sage? I'm sure no other father holds their children at arm's length. You know it won't do a lot of good." Rose asked as she handed him a cloth.
"You know why I do it. I want to keep them as healthy as I possibly can just in case…" he responded as he wiped the coal dust from his face, neck, and hands. Rose sighed and gave her husband a kiss before he left the room to change his clothes.
Haymitch pushed his dark curls out of his eyes and went back to his school work. The Abernathy home had never been a normal one. Rosemary Abernathy had high expectations for both of her sons and though she never said it, she always envied her sister's life. Sage was obsessive and paranoid. Haymitch had never met anyone else in his father's family, but he imagined that something big must have happened to make his father the man he was. Sage had always been very protective of his children's health to the point of obsession, and had a tendency to always be looking over his shoulder.
There was a knock at the door that pulled Haymitch from his thoughts.
"Haymitch, get that?" his mother asked, working to rekindle the fire in the hearth. Haymitch got to his feet and crossed the house to the door. He peered through the lens and saw the faces of a couple of men his father worked with, coal still on their faces. He pulled back the bolts, covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, and opened the door. The first man shoved past him gruffly and he fell to the floor.
"Hey!" Haymitch shouted as he got to his feet. His mother looked up as a half dozen men filled her small living room. She rose and wiped her hands on her apron.
"No," she said in a firm voice, "not tonight. I don't know what you want, but not tonight. It's been a long day and I won't have it. Come back tomorrow." When she finished the same man who'd shoved Haymitch down struck Rose over the head with the hilt of his knife and she fell.
"What are you doing." Haymitch shouted, running to his mother's side, "Are you mad?" From the front of the group Haymitch could recognize several faces. Other men and fathers from the Seam stood around the mother and son. Some of them looked concerned and drew back from the scene. The man with the knife looked seething and pleased with himself at the same time. He leaned down and Haymitch drew away from him, glaring. He pressed the point of his knife to Haymitch's throat.
"I bet he's training you already, isn't he, boy?" the man asked. His breath reeked of alcohol and his dark grey eyes bored into Haymitch's own with a wicked fire. He pushed the blade harder and Haymitch began to bleed.
"Don't hurt him, Pascal, you know this has nothing to do with him." One man said. Haymitch was pretty sure the voice belonged to Talon Hawthorn.
"You're too much of a bleeding heart for this, Hawthorn, go home." Another man grumbled.
"No," Talon lowered his head grimly, "my family needs this money… I'll stay. Just don't hurt him."
"What in Heaven's name?" Sage emerged from his room in clothes unmarred by the soot to see his wife unconscious on the floor and a man's knife to Haymitch's throat. He attempted to run towards them only to be caught up by several men of the group. They dragged him from the house despite his efforts.
"Restrain the boy," demanded the man who had been pressing his knife to Haymitch's throat. Sage was dragged outside yelling for his oldest son. Haymitch ducked, kicked, and bit his way around the two men trying to restrain him and ran as fast as his feet would carry him to the sound of his father's voice. He ran into the dark night and around the side of the house. When he reached the back he froze and the two men grabbed his arms gruffly. Sage Abernathy was face down in the dirt, struggling against the man who's knee was driven into his spine. The sharp-eyed man crouched down and lifted Sage's face out of the dirt by his hair.
"You'd better hope this boy of yours isn't involved or one day he'll meet the same fate," he said. Sage glared and spit in the man's face. He glared and wiped the spit away and, faster than Haymitch could see, sliced open Sage's throat and let his head fall to the dirt. Haymitch screamed. He screamed as loud as he possibly could and fought against the men that held him. One man wrapped an arm around his torso and lifted Haymitch off the ground. He screamed until his rage melted into hiccups and tears. Most of the men had gone from the scene, not looking at Haymitch. Sage's murderer walked up to Haymitch and his captive.
"I'll let you be the one to help them with his body since you wanted to keep them alive so badly," he said and walked off. After the man was out of sight Haymitch was released. As soon as his feet hit the ground he was running to his father. He fell a few steps away and crawled to his body. His pain washed over him anew and he pulled his knees to his chest, crying out and burying his head in his arms. His captor stood where he'd let Haymitch go, not saying a word. After what could have been ages Haymitch felt his breathing return to normal. He wiped at the salt water streaking his dirty cheeks with his sleeves and looked at his father's body.
"I'm sorry dad. I'll fix this, I promise." He reached down and pulled the simple wood and twine rosary from his father's heck. Part of the twine had been cut when Sage's throat had been slit and the token was soaked with blood, but Haymitch didn't mind. He held tightly to the small crucifix and let the tears fall silently.
"Haymitch, you should get back inside. Let's go." The man that addressed Haymitch turned out to be Talon Hawthorn. He had a sad look in his grey eyes as he reached his hand down to Haymitch. The two walked back into the little Knocked together house in silence. Haymitch sat cross-legged on the floor next to his mother, pulled her head gently into his lap, and looked up at Talon. His grey-blue eyes bore into talon and burned a hole in his mind he would never forget.
"Why?" Haymitch asked simply. Talon only stared back in silence. After a few moments of pause he turned to leave.
"I'll call for someone to come take care of your mother." He closed the door behind him. Haymitch stood deftly and slid the bolt locks home. His father always wanted the door locked. He then strode to the small chest of drawers in his parents' room and pulled out his father's knife. It wasn't fancy like Pascal's, but it was sharp enough to kill and that's what mattered to him. He pulled a chair to the door and sat with the knife in his hand, waiting for someone to come help… or someone to come attack. He swore to himself that he would never let anyone attack his house again.