Chapter Four
The first thing that registers when I wake up is that it's freezing.
My body weighs a thousand pounds, and my head is pounding. I taste bile in my mouth meaning I probably threw up while I was passed out. I try to move my neck but the stab of pain that shoots down my spine almost causes me to black out again.
I shift my eyes down and see I'm laying on a white bed still dressed in Gwen's beautiful gown, now dirty, bloodstained, and ripped at the bottom.
Pieces of the night begin to fall back into place, and I realize I'm too numb to cry.
The riot. I wonder for a fleeting second how many people were hurt, but worrying isn't going to help anything.
Tensions had been high ever since the ending of last years Games, and evidently the Quarter Quell announcement had been enough to break everyone.
'A pool consisting of direct family members of living victors.'
The few words had broken an entire people. I'd known most of the victors from the time I was small, and the one thing they all shared was a fierce protection of their families. They, better than anyone else, knew the horrors of the arena and what it could do to someone.
Finnick had told me about Tyler, the third of Mags's mentees, the woman who had killed herself. She'd done it after her daughter whose name I could not remember was killed in the Cornucopia bloodbath.
The worst things most of the victors could imagine was their loved ones suffering the way they did in the arena.
I feel a lump in my throat that makes it hard to breath.
"Aurora?"
I raise my eyes to look at Finnick standing in the doorway. He looks tired and worn, with his hair sticking up all over the place and bags under his eyes. He's still dressed in his interview tux but it's wrinkled and his ties undone. "Hey." I croak, my throat scratchy. "You look like hell."
It makes him smile, but it's a tired smile. "Look who's talkin'." He says softly, walking over to the bed. I force myself to sit up, biting my lip to keep from screaming. The pain in my hand is dwarfed compared to my head. Finnick sits on the edge of the bed, studying my face. "How..." he starts, but can't find the words. He's staring at me with more intensity than ever.
"I'm ok." I whisper, the tremor in my voice all but gone. Then, without warning, I begin to sob.
Body wracking sobs rip from my chest and shake my entire body. I feel Finnick's arms wrap around me, and his chest muffles my cries. I don't know how long we stay like that, but it feels like a long time before I'm able to calm down.
I'm not sure why I'm crying. I'm not afraid to die, it's a miracle I'm still alive today. I'm not afraid of the Capitol. I'm not afraid of the Games, or the President, or the twenty-three other people who will be trying to kill me.
I'm afraid of killing. Again.
The thought makes me shiver and I push the thought away. They were just dreams.
Nightmares.
"We have to go downstairs." Finnick murmurs into my hair, and I know he's right. All eyes will be on the Victors and their families the next few hours during the Reaping, and sponsors will be on the lookout for those who stay strong.
And those who do not.
I nod into his chest, and in a few minutes my face is washed and I'm dressed in simple clothes, ready to go face the world.
With Finnick at my side helping me, of course. I can hardly walk ten feet without getting dizzy. We go slowly, me leaning on him heavily. I realize we're in Mags's house, which is interesting. Maybe it's because none of the cameras would dare attempt getting into Mags's house as they had other victors residences. Whatever the reason, I'm glad for it. After last night I doubt I will be going home for a very long time, regardless of what happened at the Reaping.
The Reaping.
The idea of it sends snakes writhing in my stomach. I'd never been weary of the Reaping because, while I've always known there's a chance my name could be read, it was never in my mind a real possibility.
Now, it was a certainty. I couldn't get the image of Jacques Goldstein, the District 4 escort, reading out my name in his silly, high pitched Capitol accent. The image of hundreds upon thousands of eyes staring directly at me on the stage, none of them really believing they'll see me again.
"Aurora." I look up to see Morgen, looking even worse off than Finnick, standing at the bottom of the stairs. I wish everyone would stop saying my name.
"How's May?" I ask, remembering how she was crying and hugging Alder before the riot caught fire. Morgen's face becomes more drawn.
"Shes...here." Is all he says as he motions us to follow him. With Finnick guiding me we follow Morgen to Mags's living room, a cheery place full of plush, pastel colored furniture and frilly things.
Its cheery feel is dampened by the people occupying the furniture, most of whom are either crying or looking like they've just been through war. I note Hannibal's absence, and Marko, May's husband, is gone too. May and Alder are on one of the couches, Alder looking pale and afraid with his mother hugging him and babbling about how he can win. Also present are Irvin and Misty Glendower with their son whose name I don't remember, and Douglas Pardon, who won a Games some fifty years ago, with a young man who I think is his grandson.
No one looks up at me when I walk in, which I'm thankful for. Finnick leads me to a armchair with doilies on either arm, but it's comfy and warm. I smile at him to let him know I'm ok, but I really must look like hell because if anything he seems more concerned. Mags herself enters the room just them, carrying a cup of something steaming and handing to May, who accepts it without a word.
I look around, studying every face in the room. Among the District 4 Victors there is a clear dividing line: those who revel in their victory every moment of their lives and those who try everything in their power to forget. The former is made up of those standing around looking strangely out of place with the bright, happy furniture in the background. This group, brought together through a mutual need to forget, is my true family. I remember the hell my life was before them and am faintly afraid when I imagine a life without each and everyone of them.
I wonder if they feel that same, primal fear when faced with the possibility of losing me.
I hope they do.
My stomach clenches and I've just laid my head back to shut my eyes when I hear shouting. I look up to see a livid Hannibal stomping into the living room. May jumps up and rushes over to him, grabbing his arm. "Where is he?" she exclaims, her words shaky like she's about to start crying again. "What have they done with him?"
Hannibal sighs, running his hand through his hair in a way that reminds me of Finnick. "They've arrested him." He says finally, and May immediately starts sobbing again. Mags takes her by the arm and leads her away while Morgen sits next to Alder, his nephew, and puts an arm around him.
"Marko went missing after things quieted down." Finnick mumbles to me. "After you passed out Peacekeepers stormed the square and carried off everyone still fighting. People fled to here, Ren's house or their own if they could reach it. A few are still missing though." As he finishes he stands up and walks over to his father, who looks just as disheveled as the rest of us, and started talking to him in a hushed voice. After a few seconds, Hannibal nods and steps forward.
"The Reaping starts in three hours." I see most everyone in the room cringe. Hannibal waits a moment before continuing. "Most of the District is already there. Now, this is important so MAGS!" he shouts, and the old woman, still holding onto May, looks around the corner. "She needs to hear this." Hannibal mutters and May walks over to Morgen and Alder. "Ok, the Capitol is watching. They know of the...unrest." He chooses his words carefully, avoiding the word that lately has been hanging over all our heads.
Rebellion.
"If we don't show them that we're strong, that we are on board with these Games, confident in our tributes, they will crackdown on the entire District." He continues. "They've already done it too Twelve, and there's talk of it in Eight." He stops, letting the news sink in. Nobody questions how he knows this, Hannibal has friends in lots of places. "We have to play strong." He looks at May, then to me, "And believe we can do this."
It's the most I'd ever heard Hannibal say in one speech. Everyone stays still for a few moments before I speak, "He's right." I murmur, hardly loud enough for anyone to hear yet every head turns to me. "We'll be ok." I say louder, more for my own benefit than the others.
The next two hours are the longest of my life. We get ready slowly, like in a dream. I pull on an old dress that had belonged to Mags, a pretty light blue thing, simple though. It makes me look younger than 17. I rinse out my hair and let it curl the way it was for the Quarter Quell announcement, and I don't wear makeup.
I want the people of Panem to know what I really look like before they send me to my death.
Mags gives me hightech Capitol medicine that all but erases my headache and the pain in my hand.
I walk up to the mirror, studying my face for what may be the last time while in District 4. It strikes me how little I look like my mother. Opposite of her, really. I looked like my father, and my mother used to rant about him when I was younger, saying things like he was a traitor and she hated him. I think looking like him is what made her have such adverse feelings towards me.
When I finally go back downstairs Hannibal is waiting for me. "Where is everyone?" I ask, realizing Finnick's gone.
"They're all already gone." He sighs, looking at me. "Are you ready?" He asks, smiling sadly.
"I think so." I smile back half heartedly and take his arm as he leads me out the door.
Victors Village is empty, and in my memory has never been this quiet on a reaping day. We walk through the gates in silence, Kale missing, most likely at the reaping already. Our footsteps echo, and I feel strangely light.
All of the sudden, Hannibal stops, forcing me to stop too. "Aurora," he says urgently, turning me to face him. His scar was pale this morning. "What did your mother say to you?" His voice is low and his tone urgent in a way I'd never heard him speak.
"She..um.." I stammer, trying to remember her words. 'You will volunteer if they call her name' "She said to volunteer if they call Lillys name."
He frowns, his eyebrows furrowing, "Anything else?" He asks, and then I remember. 'You will be the one to die in the Arena, you stupid bastard, not her.'
"She told me she would rather have me die than Lilly...and she called me a bastard." I murmur, and Hannibal's eyes change when I say the last part.
He looks afraid.
"Aurora, if you never listen to anything I say, at least listen to this." His voice is so quiet I have to lean in to hear it, "Never, repeat that, and never let anyone know you don't know your father."
His words take me aback. We've never talked about my father, save one time when I'd first met him. I don't understand why he would be worried about that now, but he looks more afraid than I've ever seen him. And that, above all, scares me more than anything. "Alright." I whisper, and he lets out a sigh and hugs me.
"You can win. We both know that." He whispers in my ear, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
I could win. I don't want to admit it, don't want to think about it, but I know I could.
I can kill.
He walks me to the sign in station, and people are milling around, stragglers showing up late. Every year of my life I have had to wait in line behind hundreds of other kids, but this year it's only me. I feel people's eyes on me as I walk up to the Peacekeeper sitting behind the table who looks bored, yawning before she pricks my finger. I watch the blood well up on my fingertip, wondering how much more of my own blood I'll have to see by the time this is all over. Hannibal looks at me and mutters, "I'll see you in a little bit," before walking off and disappearing into the crowed.
People part for me as I head for the roped off section for 17 year olds. This year there are only two, one for 12 year olds and one for me. In the 12 year old section stands my sister, alone, standing straight and proper. She locks eyes with me and I smile at her, but she only turns away her head. I pretend not to notice, pretend it doesn't hurt me, as I go stand in the 17 year old section.
I try to stand up straight, and look up to the stage. On it sits every Victor we've ever had, and a little in front this year's mentors Finnick and Neressia. On the other side of the stage sits Mortimer and Jacques, both dressed in flashy Capitol clothes. Jacques is especially distracting this year, wearing a suit that has a thousand tiny designs on it. His face is covered in tattoos that I think are little tridents, and his skin is a strange sort of luminescent blue.
I glance over to the boys section, where the selection is a little more selection than the girls. There are nine boys, four of whom are 12, standing with them Alder looking uncharacteristically pale. There's a 14 year old I don't recognize, two 17 year olds, one of whom I know is Thyme Seagate, Neressia's brother, and two 18 year olds who I recognize but don't know the names of. None of them look too afraid, but their parents, aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters on the stage look afraid enough.
I look back to the stage and see Finnick, dressed in a handsome blue suit, staring at me. He gives the slightest nod of his head, small enough I'm sure no one notices. I nod back, just as tiny a gesture, when Mortimer walks over to the microphone.
"Happy 75th Hunger Games!" he calls, and the applause that follows is less than it's ever been before. The tensions of the crowd are high. More than once I'd heard talk around the docks of a coming rebellion, but I prayed it wouldn't come during the middle of the Reaping. I noticed there were more Peacekeepers than I'd ever seen before. I tune out Mortimer as he begins talking of the rebellion and I don't watch the video I'd seen played a thousand times.
I stare instead at the stage, at the victors who have, over the years, become my family. Morgan is looking at Alder but I see his eyes flick to me for half a heartbeat. I feel a sinking in my chest, realizing that if both Alder and I are called Morgan will be rooting for my death. Annie, perched on the edge of her seat like a bird ready to take flight, stares at Lilly and I uncomprehendingly. I lock eyes with her for a second and, for a moment, I feel as if I'm eight again and have my big sister to protect me. The feelings over too quickly as the video ends with a blaring version of the Capitol Anthem and Jacques is hopping up to the podium.
By the time Jacques stands up, my hearts beating faster than I'd ever felt it. I feel sort of like I'm going to throw up, and I can't help but think back to yesterday morning when Hannibal gave those poor boys the oysters.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
"Hello, hello everyone!" He laughs into the microphone, but no applause greets him. He doesn't miss a beat, "This is such an exciting year, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" He directs the last part to us pathetically small pool of tributes. "Ladies first!" He calls, practically skipping over to the big glass ball. There's only two of us, but there are at least seven pieces of paper in there, six with my name on them.
He fishes around in the bowl for quite awhile, and it's so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Finally he snags one and holds it out for everyone to see, then he skips back over to the microphone, taking his time unfolding the paper.
I frantically look for Finnick and lock eyes with him, wanting the last sight I see before I'm condemned to be his eyes.
"Aurora Cresta!"
My name echos for a long time and nobody claps. I feel my legs moving, but this all feels like a dream. I watch the stage get closer and before I know it I'm looking out over thousands of pairs of eyes.
Angry eyes.
The anger in the crowd is almost tangible. They don't agree, they don't believe in this.
"How about a hand for your female tribute from District 4!" shouts Jacques with his never ending pep, but nobody claps. The only rebellion they can afford is silence.
For now.
I feel bad for Jacques, who seems to be floundering. District 4 is usually one of the most bloodthirsty Districts - never have we not reveled in the Games. "Well...now for our male tribute!" He practically runs over to the male bowl and grabs the first slip of paper he touches. While his back is turned I allow myself a small, shaky sigh, then force myself to gain composer.
I know all the cameras will be on my face.
"Thyme Seagate!"
Oh no. I want to groan. Thyme, like his sister, was rude, off putting and not even a little attractive. Having to deal with both him and his sister was going to be unbearable.
Not the way I want to spend some of my last weeks.
Nobody claps for Thyme as he ascends the stage either, but when Jacques asks for applause, something else happens.
"You damned stupid mutts, we'll watch you burn!" somebody screams. I'm scanning the crowd for the culprit, but whoever it was doesn't want to be seen. There's some laughter, but more angry murmuring. I see Peacekeepers moving in the general direction of the shout, but they don't look like they know where they're headed.
"H-Happy 75th Hunger Games!" Jacques shouts, "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"
We're being ushered into the Justice Building when I hear the first shots being fired.
