CH. 8 I CAN BARELY SAY
Drip. Drip. Drip. The steel faucet in the corner of the medically inspired room annoyed her senses.
Room 2.
The hallway they had brutally taken her down was lined with doors all nondescript donning only numbered placards,12 doors in all. Room 2 had been the fate decided for her by President Snow after her refusal to confess what she did not know. Two Peacekeepers had pushed her into the room and restrained by her wrists and ankles to a reclined chair that looked eerily like that of some sinister dentist. And then everyone just left.
No clocks could confirm it, but it felt as though an hour had passed when the clink of keys sounded from the hallway outside the door. It was torture waiting to hear for them. A small form but it put her on edge. It was late and Effie was tired but rest was not an option, to sleep meant resignation, it meant refusing to fight off whatever they were planning to do with her.
The key moved to open the lock of the bright, windowless room. In walked two Peacekeepers and the man she least wanted to see, Snow.
"I hope you've taken some time to refresh you mind." Snow lazed out in a condescending manner.
Effie couldn't speak, she didn't know what to say, what he wanted to hear, what would keep her alive. Her silence only motivated him.
"You're so pretty, aren't you?" Snow let his finger run across the top of her bound hand. To Effie it was an animal marking it's territory, heightening the dominance he already had. His question, while rhetorical, begged her to answer, to delight in her vanity, but she remained quiet.
"Ms. Trinket, do you remember a boy by the name of Finnick Odair? Do you remember that boy's plight?"
Effie only knew the rumors that no one dared speak aloud for threat of punishment. Finnick had been a paid escort of the districts, and not in the same sense she had been. Finnick was said to have been a slave to the cold, hungry bodies of the Capitol.
Effie gathered a breath for she was about to breach one of her own rules, the passing of gossip.
"I have heard many things about his situation." Without the loss of her composure she rose to meet Snow's eyes, for a man whose name conjured images of white his eyes were of the darkest grey, black almost.
Instead of finding Snow beside himself with the taste of treason, she found him displaying the smallest smirk.
"Unfortunate circumstances can lead to unfortunate consequences." She can see the anger rising in his face with these words, the flush on his cheeks, the rise in his breath. He continues with growing fury.
"You were the escort for District 12, you were the one who led them to the Capitol, and you as a representative of the Capitol did nothing to stop their rebellion." His torso looming over her, Effie drops her head as she tries to shut her eyes and make him go away. Trying to process what he has just said.
There is a rebellion. Her team has incited a rebellion. She could only rationalize why they would leave her behind. She had heard Haymitch speak occasionally of wanting to change what was, but never to the degree that he had actually formulated a plan. His drunken ramblings contained all sorts of imaginings he would forget by the time his tongue dried. But this, this was a cumulative effort he spoke of.
"I can promise you, I do not know anything about a rebellion." Her voice soft as she kept her eyes down, chin resting on her collar bone trying to hide her face.
Snow had reached a breaking point, throwing his hands on her wrists, yelling into her face, "You brought them here! You allowed them the stage to showcase their rebellion."
His breath so hard in her face she thought she might wilt from the heinous odor. Effie tried to conceal it but her body shook with fright. He was blaming her. She was closest to Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch, and she was left. Why else would he be pressuring her so much for information if they had others to suspect. The Capitol was flawed, and she often fought feelings of undermining them, but she would never attempt to make it publicly known to them, it would only ensure her a slow and painful death, which is what she was now likely to face.
She let out a small whimper at the thought of dying. With Snow's face so close to her own she knew it did not go unnoticed by him.
"Don't be scared now. When there is so much to fear in your future." Snow's words were quiet. He would drain her of every ounce of life before he would sever her.
Screams.
Out of her door and down the hall the scream of a young girl. Piercing, causing Snow to turn his head in the direction of the door. You could hear the girl's mouth being stuffed as her scream became muffled and suddenly mute. The creation of an Avox. The last sound ever to escape her lips would be that of her own fear. This corridor was where rebellion met it's punishment.
Snow turned and brought himself level with Effie, moving his lips to her ear, "Don't force me to make you a warm body for the gentlemen of the Capitol, I'd have you myself."
She can't even breathe as he pulls himself away from her. Standing at the foot of her reclined chair never taking his eyes from her he signals for the two Peacekeepers to pull up beside him.
"Anything you wish to tell me?" he offers her a final chance to divulge to him the secrets she does not keep.
"I don't know anything." she chokes out.
"Well then you leave me no choice." her looks to the Peacekeepers, "Clean her, dress her and then bring her to me."
For the denial of her penance he would make her want death, but never allow her to die.
CH. 9 SO CLOSE TO A FINE FRENZY
Haymitch had reached the edge of The Capitol, the start of the candy colored streets and the lesser of the lavish houses. The streets were chaos waiting to happen, he stepped lightly, making corners and alleys the path for his hurried feet. He would need to revise his plan once he got closer. Originally he had wanted to travel underground, find a sewer of some sort and infiltrate from underneath, but that would require a major detour, one that would waste time and might prove an exhaust of energy. As the sun began to rise over the cherry colored roofs, he took note of the desertion. Doors left ajar, papers and clothes sprinkled throughout entry ways, it was then it hit him. The perfect way to walk into the Capitol would be as a citizen.
He walked into the closest house and began riffling through the scattered articles of clothing. A royal blue jacket, an ascot tie in a garish burnt orange, a matching pair of pants, and a hat that resembled a bowler. The outfit had to have at one time been worn together as all the colors complemented themselves too well. The hat was a rarity for men, not extinct but definitely not the pinnacle of fashion, mostly a symbol of status. The man who had worn these previously, while slighter larger than Haymitch, had indeed been a worker in the Capitol, he needed means and the hat was an indicator that he valued the money he received.
He took no shame in dressing himself in the Capitol garb there in the living room of another man's house. Civility had flown away with the Mockingjay. The guise would only get him so far, eventually he would have to get hold of a Peacekeeper's uniform, a task that would guarantee either death or success.
His pace was painstakingly slow, even with his new wardrobe he still shied from visible cameras and the Peacekeepers who roamed freely in the abandoned streets closer to the safe zone at the center of The Capitol. The others back in their own safe zone would be starting to wake. Finding the note he had left them:
This is a mission I must complete alone.
Do not seek me out. Trust that when I
have found her I will return back to you.
Give me only 3 days and if I have not come
back, return to District 13.
-Haymitch
Katniss could relay the 'who' he had implied if they were so hard pressed to know. She would no doubt be scorned by his solicitation and eventual neglect of her, but that was one person he was not fearful of disappointing. Katniss had her own battles and grudges were not long held between the two of them.
The streets became harder to navigate as daylight grew. And while he felt somewhat disguised he knew he was not as invisible as he needed to be. This body he was carrying on himself would need to be exchanged for someone with more authority. A Peacekeeper. But killing one would require him to actually be within eye shot of one. He would have to leave the shadows of the alleys.
He couldn't decide if his legs shook because of the lack of alcohol in his system or because of his shattered nerves, but he assumed the latter. With his back against the wall of the cold alley he peeked around the white stones to look out into the distance. He could see people walking around further down but closer to him were two Peacekeepers guarding the street that led to his alley.
He picked up two stones that lay scattered by his feet. He had not anticipated having to set up a trap on his own, but with only a small gun he was facing a large shortcoming if a battle started.
He tossed the first stone directly across the street into the darkness of the other side of the alleyway. It could have very well gone unnoticed had it not hit something metal on the other side. The Peacekeepers turned and began to walk toward the noise, one pulled ahead while the other fell behind.
As they got closer Haymitch threw his back flush against the wall as he measured distance on gut feeling alone. One of the Peacekeepers was starting to go down the opposite alley while the other lay flush against the wall that would soon turn to meet Haymitch. As the first Peacekeeper began to descend deep into the opposing alley the other gradually started to turn for Haymitch.
Shoot Him. His brain commanded him to fire the shot that would ensure his safety. But gunfire would only bring attention where it was least needed. As the Peacekeeper turned the corner Haymitch acted instinctively. The eyes veiled behind plastic met his in the darkness and just as he opened his mouth to command him, Haymitch grabbed his neck and twisted.
Adrenaline and fear surged through him. It was not an act of strength or strategy but of total and utter fear. The body fell from his hands, the sound of the metal gun he was carrying hit hard. Too hard. Too loud. Haymitch went to grab for the weapon to arm himself but when he looked up from doing so he met the barrel of the other Peacekeeper right between his eyes.
This was it how he would die. Here in this alley this man would shoot him without concern for all of the reasons he came here. War justified this. It is what allowed him to so mercilessly kill the man at his feet, without concern. But the man before him would ensure the death of two people. He would be killing a man who had little to offer, who by occupation had done little more than break promises to the dying. But he would also be killing the woman who despite her shortcomings had tried to support the dying, make their final days as comfortable as she could.
Haymitch raised his hands, but didn't give the man the satisfaction of closing his eyes. He would stare into the eyes of the man he would kill, of the woman who depended on him for escape and survival.
He aimed the gun square at Haymitch's face and without hesitation...
Bam.
The Peacekeeper fell to his feet, an arrow sticking out of his back.