A/N - Hey guys, sorry for the long gap between chapters. I've been busy, even after school ended.
Well, enjoy this long chapter!
Chapter Eleven – Tortured Puppets
Merrill,
I pause, my eyes falling on that name. I can't read that name. I can't. Because, if I do, I'll never recover from it and feel so depressed I'll bawl my eyes out for ages.
Merrill, Merrill, Merrill… Which Merrill?
Finally I cannot take it anymore. My eyes scan the line and reads: Merrill, Dina.
Lea's mom. She's dead.
It is a couple days after President Snow spoke to me, Josh, and the Fujimoto pair of District One. I decided that if I am going back to my school, I'd want to know the damage. So I asked for a list of who was dead, who was injured, and who was missing this morning. I got it back a half hour later.
I don't want to continue reading, but I do.
Merrill, Dina. Presumed trampled.
At least no District One killer shot her.
She's at the bottom of the deceased list. Thirty-four dead in all, two from District One, the rest from my own beloved District.
I won't forgive them for it.
My eyes scan the names of the injured victims. Some of the injuries, like some guy named Johnson Harriet being hit in the head with a baton forty-seven times, should've been fatal. But thank God they weren't.
Syna, Salin. Shot in the leg and torso while hiding from assassins.
-Eldest daughter of Sheetal Syna, victor of the 12th Hunger Games.
I look at my casted arm and sign. I can so relate to her. But at least she's all right. I wonder how Amy and Valentin got her from the tree to a doctor.
I skim over the list twice, trying to find any other names I recognize. I see my Mathematics teacher with the dead names; he was trying to fight off faux-Peacekeepers marching to the Victors' Village with several other people. Apparently they thought I was somewhere at the Village.
Unintentionally, I keep coming across the bottom of the long list. The five names of missing people. Three of them belong to District One assassins who may or may not be still lurking in the streets of District One. But two of them…
McLee, Alanna Grace and Loonson, Josh. Both captured by Peacekeeper, unsure if Peacekeeper was of One or Five. Possibly somewhere in the Woods.
-Alanna is victor of the 54th Hunger Games. Josh is the twin brother of Wade Loonson, tribute in the 54th Hunger Games.
I don't know why that's there. The only people with these notes are the ones that have some family relation to a Hunger Games. It's not noted that "Merrill, Dina" was the mother of a fourteen-year-old girl, nor that she was the wife of "Merrill, Dwayne," whom was injured from also protecting the Victors' Village.
How if Lea even faring? Her mom is dead and her dad is in the hospital, which I'm sure its small space is overflowing with wounded people. I hope someone is taking her in. Maybe my family is doing so. They would, yet things would be different if they're so upset about me.
Someone knocks on my door and I shout, "Come in!"
It opens and I see Josh walking in. I know it's Josh because he's taking out his turquoise contacts. His blue eyes stare up at me, and he smiles at my sight. Why is he? He doesn't share my emotions – my anger at District One, my confusion in this mess, and infuriation that we look like scumbags, my dread of appearing at school looking like District One teenagers and they won't even know it'll really be Alanna Grace McLee and Josh Loonson.
"Why are you smiling?" I ask without looking at his face.
"Why I'm smiling?" Josh repeats. "Well, because I'm glad to see your face."
I take this the wrong way. I snap, "So you like me looking like filth?"
"I don't see you looking like filth."
"So you're fond of the face of Marigold Fujimoto?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about how you like 'my' face when it's really the horrific duplication of a District One-"
"Alanna, stop, enough of it!"
"Enough of what?"
"You talking about how bad District One is!"
"Because it's true!"
"No, it's not!"
"So you believe what Marigold keeps saying about how 'not everyone' in One wants me dead?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong with that? What's wrong with that? She's trying to get us to trust her when at the least expected moment she'll stab me in the back!"
"Marigold wouldn't do that."
"You're on her side?! She's from One! The same District that killed our brothers!"
Josh seems shaken by this. He shakes his head in a no response and says calmly, "Alanna, I don't like what District One and our District is doing to each other. What I hate the most is what you're turning into."
"I'm not turning into anything but a puppet of President Snow."
"Exactly my point! A part of the Hunger Games is to turn the victor into the puppet of the Capitol. When you left the arena alive, I didn't expect the same Alanna back, however I almost got her back. Sure, you have the same mental insanity most victors wind up getting, but you still had yourself. You were still the same person who refused to fall into Kyro's plan of fighting District One. You only said you were going to help when Snow threatened you, but I know you weren't going to lift a finger against One. Not once did you say anything bad about District One. Now you give an innocent girl from One a black eye and broken nose and you keep talking about One like everyone there is horsecrap. That's not the Alanna I want. That's the Alanna where President Snow is pulling the strings. Please, Alanna, don't turn into that. You have more control over yourself, over your life. You're a lot better than what I'm looking at presently."
I glare away from him. I don't want him to know that his words are sinking into my heart, my soul.
"I want the Alanna Wade and I fell for."
Goosebumps pop up on my arm. That comment makes my chest stir.
"I want the Alanna full of life and love."
My rage starts to fade away. I look up at Josh, see his light blue eyes, see his real face. I don't see Brilliant Fujimoto. I see Josh Loonson.
He opens his mouth, about to say more, when the door slams open. We turn and face Kyro in Peacekeeper uniform.
I've been wondering why Kyro's here in the first place when he's supposed to be missing. It turns out he is quite popular among Peacekeepers here and they decided to hide him. Snow doesn't even know he's been playing the role of a Peacekeeper since.
Kyro's visor is up and his brown eyes look at me and Josh with a bit of curiosity. He smiles, showing his yellowish teeth, and says, "Did I interrupt something?"
"How about a very important and deep conversation?" Josh and I answer at once.
Kyro shrugs, as though it couldn't have been worse. "Look, I have to take you to the elevator under the Justice Building for others to escort you to the school. Don't worry, I'll be with you all the time to keep you protected. C'mon."
Josh helps me off the bed and about two of the seven blankets I've been wrapped up in slides off to the floor with me. He snickers and jokes "Planning on moving to the Arctic?"
"Aren't you cold?" I ask him.
He shakes his head. "Well, now that I think about it, it may be a tiny bit chilly here."
"You mean it doesn't feel like you're naked in the dead of winter?" I mean, seriously, everyone here walks around, some barefoot on the concrete floors, like it's summer or something. Then again, just about all of the people who walk here are decked in Peacekeeper uniform.
Josh laughs. "No, but your dress plays a factor."
I look at myself and scowl. The dress I've been wearing since I've come here has become winkled, which I'm surprised – it's so tight that there shouldn't even be room for wrinkles. My curves, which again I'm surprised by, stand out like a thin sheet it wrapped around me once. Minus the undergarments, I do feel like I'm naked, and it's quite uncomforting. If this is the type of dress Marigold wore coming to my District, how can people in District One stand it?
"Well, they are Careers, so I guess it makes sense," I say without meaning to. "They're used to the cold because they are cold."
Josh decides not to answer. In fact, he doesn't even looking at me as we walk with Kyro. The Peacekeepers' Bunker is mainly a system of dull, white concrete hallways with concrete doors hiding their secrets within practically ten feet apart from each other, except for the concrete stairs and elevating ramps. There are no windows or landmarks of any kind what so ever, everything looks the same and boring and lifeless. It's also confusing with no way of knowing if you're heading in the right direction. I think even Kyro is getting lost.
The bunker is filled with Peacekeepers, their uniforms the same color was the walls. They wear their helmets with the visors up like Kyro, but personally I prefer them down. I can see their faces - dark-skinned, light-skinned, old, young, hollow, full, beards, mustaches – it's like finally seeing what's behind that dark gray mask. But it isn't what I expected. Some of them smile or look casual. Some talk to others or stride around alone. Even now I pass by two Peacekeepers carrying some boxes in their hands. They turn to look at me with an apologetic grin on their faces, but I turn away. I can't face it. I can't face them pitying me. I've had enough of it.
There are much more with expressionless, stern faces, like you'd expect behind a Peacekeeper's mask. Most avoid looking at me completely, or just act like there's no one around to look at. I still don't prefer this. It seems creepier, like these Peacekeepers are actually robotic with human flesh.
In fact, they might actually be humanoid robots built by the Capitol and placed in the Districts. The supply of them seems endless.
I actually start to calm down as we walk up a longer, steeper ramp. I can tell we're going up. Up to the elevator. It makes sense, right, to have the elevators positioned at the highest spots in the bunker?
The thought of being out of this arctic bunker, away from these creepy Peacekeepers, soothes me. I'll be out and about. Breathe in my fresh, District Five air. Maybe it'll calm my nerves, make me feel better.
But all of a sudden, the actual, dreadful realization hits me and makes my pulse quicken and palms sweat sticky; away from the protective Peacekeepers, out of the unknown bunker, into the depressed and bloody District Five air where the aftermath of the assassination attempt made mostly everyone angry at District One. I won't be able to get one breath of fresh air without my own fellow citizens glaring murderously at me, just because I look like Marigold Fujimoto, a dimwit of District One!
Somehow, I'm reminded of the reaping last June. Drawing a sharp breath before the name, my name, was called, was my last free breath. Even after I won the Games, I still have strings tied to me with President Snow the puppeteer. He doesn't care what happens to me, if my limbs are pulled off or my gut punched so hard it bruises – as long as he's in control of the show, nothing else matters. I can't try to severe the strings to make my own choices or he'll just throw me in the fire; he'll get rid of me and use some replacement puppet to get the show on the road.
I remember what Josh and Amy said to me back in the Woods before Kyro kidnapped Josh and I: peace and tranquility, not violence.
President Snow nothing. He can't stop you from doing the right thing.
Yes, yes he can.
President Snow nothing. He can't stop you from doing the right thing.
Even if I do, he'll kill me.
You have more control over yourself, over your life.
If I had more control, I wouldn't be here right now.
But what if, what if this is only temporary? What if this all becomes a distant memory? Will I have my life back? Will everything be normal… or as normal as possible?
I don't think things will be normal. Nothing is "normal" after the Hunger Games. Not for the victor's life - my life.
I clench Josh's hand as a blank wall appears in front of us. I know the elevator is there. To take me to the surface. To a possible death sentence by my own people.
Kyro steps up to the wall and taps it, saying, "Kyro Wednt ready to transport the Fujimotos to school."
The same voice as before that asked Kyro at the tree "Who are you," says now, "The escorts have been waiting for a while. You are twelve minutes overdue."
"Look, I got lost again. Don't blame me. Just let us in."
"As you wish, Wondrous Wednt."
The wall opens up to the brown cylinder-like elevator. Kyro, appearing cross, ushers us inside, shouting at what seems like no one, "Look, Mystic Elevator Vocalist - what's your real name, Raj Peral – At least I'm not stuck in an office waiting for Peacekeepers to accept your admittance into the elevator."
"You take that back."
"Make me."
The door shuts before Kyro can even get in. I can hear him cursing below us as the elevator shoots upwards.
"So much for keeping us safe," grunts Josh, then he looks at me with a humorous expression. "Was he really just arguing with the elevator?"
"Probably the person that works the elevator," I correct coldly. His attempt at cheering me up has failed, and he knows it.
The elevator doors open, revealing a fancy carpeted hallway with about a half dozen impatient-looking Peacekeepers. One hands each of us a red, lumpy backpack each that seems half full, probably with school supplies.
Josh and I squeeze each other's hands as they shepherd us out the elevator without a word and down the alluring, choking twilight zone of a corridor... of a Justice Building I just realize we're in.
Pressure builds on my chest when two large doors appear in front of us. Bright sunlight hits my skin, blinding my eyes, but I'm too cold in icy fear to warm me up.
The street is not empty, nor is it crowded; it's dotted with people draped in black, of school children guarded securely by their parents, or scattered workers heading towards the power plants, all wearing that one, lifeless color. The light browns, yellows, and reds of the common hair color in Five stands out the most, nevertheless.
I look down at myself, then at Josh, and realize that with our colorful District One wear, we'll be very difficult to miss.
And it's true. The more we travel, the more unforgiving, fuming eyes stare at us. Some even step forward, then slink back, afraid of getting at the wrong end of a Peacekeeper. Holding close to Josh more strongly, we walk on.
Never have I been so scared of things I recognize, things I've seen my whole life. Never has the school, a small building structured of grayish, peeling concrete, looked so ominous. I actually hold my breath, even though this is what I must do for the next eight hours.
A group of parents and students step out the way as us and the Peacekeepers march up the staircase leading into the school. They push the doors open for us and shove Josh and I inside.
The exit slams behind us.
I gasp. All I can see down the hallway are blank stares at first. In their black clothes, they look like scary, pale ghosts. Then slowly, most of their faces turn into anger, fists clenching or fingers pointing crudely.
A door flings open behind me, and someone shouts, "Oh look, it's the District One brantchers!"
Cruel laughing erupts around me. Meanwhile a sinking feeling creeps into my chest, making me cower down in fear.
"Look at the girl! I thought Careers had more bravery!"
"Maybe because she's District One."
"Makes sense."
"The boy isn't. Maybe he's planning to become a child killer!"
I look up at Josh, finding his disguised face blank and emotionless. Though it is a strategy most of us from Five learn to use in case of being reaped, Josh has not been able to master it. It makes it so hard, so difficultly hard, to read his emotions, or at least guess his thoughts, just so I can relate to him. Worse, it makes it look like I'm no longer looking at Josh. It's like I am looking at a complete stranger from One, making me feel more alone than before. Abandoned.
A new voice breaks into the shouting, one striking me with fearful familiarity.
"Peee-wooo!" exclaims Christopher Suemanns, "who brought in the horse crap?"
"It was the Peacekeepers, Chris," one shouts.
Cracking his knuckles, Christopher bends down next to me with a devious smirk on his face. "So, what's your name, my lady friend?"
No, no, I want to say, you are not my friend. You just want me dead. The person you think I am. I'm not the person you think I am.
"Well," Chris says. "Answer me."
I can't answer you. So I shake my head.
"You're name is No, is it?"
I shake my head again. My heart begins to swell up with terror, beating faster than it already had.
"Can you at least talk, you little piece of shultz?"
This time, I don't answer at all.
Chris stands up, sniggering. "Well, I bet I can make you speak. Beg for mercy, even." Then he wraps one of his thick arms around my neck. I almost screech out, but I hold my tongue.
Now Josh reacts. He attempts wrestles me free but two other kids grab a hold on him and shove him against the wall, forcing him to watch. For a split second he shows a sign of panic and surprise in his fake turquoise eyes, but they quickly fall null.
Don't show any weakness. But it's too late for that. Chris's arm tightens around my neck, blocking the air from getting to my lungs. I momentarily gasp for breath, enough for Chris to hear and shout, "Look, I did it!" Then punches me in the gut.
It's like I'm some sort of punching bag now. More people come along to give me a kick or a punch or just to spat insults at me. Another crowd clouds around Josh, doing the same to him, though it looks much worse.
I close my teary eyes, trying to block it out, trying to tell myself they don't know any better. They think that Alanna McLee and Josh Loonson are missing, but they aren't. They're right here in front of them. They don't know it. You're torturing us.
But they don't know that. They think we're District One freaks. But Josh and I aren't. We're just under disguises, a costume. Concealed. Pretending to be somebody else. We can't do anything for ourselves. We're just puppets.
We're just part of the show.
Finally I open my mouth to scream, no longer able to take it, but a muddy shoe enters my mouth. The taste of blood and muck and old leather that fills my mouth is unbelievable. Unbelievable that I haven't even bothered to imagine what it would be like.
Somewhere a bell rings over the shouting and the pain, one signifying the official beginning of class. Chris lets me go, cursing me as he gets up and runs to first period. Normally I'd be in the same class as him, as well as Lea and Josh and Wade, but things are different now.
I curl up in fetal position, a trickle of blood running down my cheek, spitting out dry mud and thick saliva, mixing with my tears and even more blood. I have no idea what to do at this point. It would be sheer suicide to join any more of the students, people I once knew as friends even.
Josh collapses beside me, unconscious with two black eyes and a broken nose. That one scene triggers a part of my brain to torment me even more than I've already have, plummeting me into one of those terrorizing images.
Wade dead on the forest floor, blood gushing out his stomach.
Bonnie's wide eyes full of horror, Antonio's spear being shoved up her chin.
Ethan being pulled under the rapids by a meaty dark-brown hand, both never to be seen again.
Audry under the flaming tree in the darkest of nightly shadows, surrounded by colorful fireworks as she slowly burns to death.
And many, many more.
I am not spared from this heck when the bell rings again, sending out a fresh wave of vengeful students. They snicker at the unconscious imposter-Brilliant Fujimoto, use my body as a punching bag once again. By second period, I am literally paralyzed in agony.
Just kill me now.
I really didn't expect to spend the entire school day in the same spot the Peacekeepers left me.
"Hey," comes a grouchy voice, "C'mon."
Someone pulls on my arms to my feet, but I fall limp to the floor like a rag doll. Around me people laugh and snicker and the voice orders again "Come on, One."
That simple statement makes me realize that not all the Peacekeepers are in on Snow's plot. Not all of them know my real identity.
Eventually, I am able to get up, through weakly, unlike Josh, who still lies on the ground. I can tell he's awake, his turquoise contacts staring up at me with pain.
All of a sudden, a shoe comes flying by and kicks him in the back of the head before its owner flees from the school doors, cackling with laughter. Josh shudders, raising an arm to the fresh injury. I can almost feel it throbbing in the same spot as well.
It hurts. This really does hurt.
It takes more time than it had for me to get Josh up. The Peacekeepers have to literally drag him, however. Limping beside him, surrounded by Peacekeepers, I trudge outside, into the refreshing sunlight.
I hate this.
Looking around, more seething eyes glare at me from the black, mourning residents of Five. This doesn't compare to the physical torture. This can me nearly mentally insane if I haven't already. Already, just realizing I'll have to go through this for another thirteen weeks almost breaks me down to tears.
"Alanna?"
My head jerks up. How'd we almost get to the Justice Building? It almost doesn't matter, because someone just called my name.
There's disturbance in the slow procession of walking people directly behind me. Blond hair dashes through the black clothing, stopping only to look through alleyways. Suddenly, it whips around and hazel eyes stare directly though the Peacekeepers, looking right at me.
Lea's different. Immediately I can tell, the way her eyes instantly goes from caring and searching to foul. Her arms folds up and her hands curl into fists, the once tender face of my best friend to an enemy.
Tears waterfall from my eyes. Betrayal. That's what I think. Everyone hates me, even my best friend. Feeling more alone than ever, I lower my head, facing the ground.
My name comes out of the blue once again.
"Alanna?"
Looking up again, I see Lea staring directly into my eyes this time. The kindheartedness I've always expected from my friend surfaces back onto her face, her hazel eyes sparkling with shock and glee simultaneously.
She knows it's me.
Lea opens her mouth again, but the Peacekeepers jostle me inside the Justice Building. Big doors slamming behind us, my friend disappears on the other side with a clang.
I think somewhere along the way I passed out, because the next thing I know I'm back in my chilling room, lying face up in bed.
Keeping my body still, I look around. Besides the blank off-white walls everything is as dull and boring as everything else in the Peacekeepers' Bunker. Except…
I jerk up, surprised to find my body is strong, yet predictably bruised and bandaged. Not even a jet of pain washes over me, but my attention is elsewhere.
Flamboyant, golden-amber-hazel-green-purple-something-like-that eyes blink sweetly at me, the long and fake pink eyelashes bringing out the color. A fake-orange colored hair with frivolous curls fall down like a mop to the woman's shoulders, topped with a silk magenta bow unbelievably enormous. Her dress, simply even more magenta silk with fat orange stars, reaches only past her knees and seems much too tight for her. Only wearing ankle-high orange socks, the woman is seated in a plush couch chair, crossing her legs, a clipboard plopped in her lap, a purple fountain pen in her hand. If she ditched the intense colors, made her hair less curly, and maybe went for more black and white in her look she'd look like a profession writer.
What throws me off about her more than her clothes is that smile. Big. Wide. Nearly all of her teeth, waxy and pearly white, show. Her lips are thin yet perfectly even; lightly dabbed with hot pink lipstick to match her dyed skin.
Sweet. Silly. Dumb. Stupid. Irritable. Annoying. Infuriating. Shall I go on? I have about fifty other words that can detail my feelings about this Capitol person's smile. I can't even describe it as a grin or a smirk. Only an idiotic, exasperating smile.
I will not tolerate this. To wake up after eight hours of torture, only to face this. I prefer to waltz right back into the school of students as enraged as I am right now.
Not only is it throwing off my temper, but it also seems fake, artificial. Yet, at the same time, it seems like she's actually happy to see me.
"I hope you had a pleasant nap, Alanna McLee," the woman says. Her voice is light and high, sugary. Listening to it would make me think of a small, innocent child if it wasn't coming out of the mouth of an older woman.
"My name is Leora Fountain, but you may call me Fountain," she explains, "I will be your Victor's Therapist."
Oh yeah, the Victor's Therapy the District doctor mentioned like, a forever ago. Completely forgot, but I have my reasons. No one told me I'd get some crazy counselor at this point in time.
I want to say something sappy, but I bite my tongue.
"Now I know what you're thinking, Alanna," Fountain continues, "That I am only going to be a burden to you. Instead, I will be your guide who will redirect your life and mind to make it all better!" She claps her hands and is almost singing when she begins again. "I will be a friend to you, a best friend, the opposite of all those stereotypes you may've heard about people in the Capitol, because I know firsthand how many of the victors hate us."
"Wow, you made that cheerful," I say, "I think I'm better now. Bye." I point to the door, or where the door would be.
Instead, Fountain laughs. "Since the program began thirty years ago, I've been able to repair the damage to most of the victors I've supported-"
"Most?"
"-Though their lives are really never to same. No one's is. I've seen people like you, Alanna; I hope you realize you are not alone. There is still hope for you, a bright side to the conflicts; your best days are not in the past, but a close, close future! You are going to want to give up on this journey, but please don't. There will always be someone to guide you. There is never such as a thing as one last chance. There are many more possibilities out there, more paths for you the take that will lead you to greatness and joy!"
Wow. Just wow.
That actually makes sense.
Sort of.
"I am only here to help you find these paths, to help you on your journey. I will be there until you are deemed fit enough to look at the world with dazzling views. Now," she readies her pen, prepping to write on her clipboard, staring at me compassionately with those unreal eyes. "I would like to know about you, Alanna McLee."
There's an awkward pause where all I do is blink at her, my jaw dropped.
Would I ever?
She's just another character for the show.
"Well then," I finally say, standing up.
Fountain's smile gets wider than I thought possible.
"Here's something you outta know about me."
I approach her. Fountain makes no move to stop me from grabbing her unbelievably huge hair bow and yanking it right out her hair. My hands untie it, set them up for the big tear, and pull the fabric in two.
I don't stop there. Right here is all my anger, taken out on this Capitolite's accessory.
It doesn't cross my mind if I'll get in trouble, whether she has true authority over me or not, but she put herself here. If she really has worked with many other victimized victors, she should expect things like this to happen to her.
I let go of the shredded pieces of silk, allowing them to fall to the floor in many pits and pieces. Fountain looks at them, but not a single moment of discomfort or alarm or concern is able to position itself on her still freakishly smiling face.
"Looks like we need a bit of anger management, do we?" she inquiries tenderly. "Is that what you wanted me to know about you?"
A/N - and that's a wrap. I hope you, dear readers, liked this chapter. I'd like to see your feedback in the reviews, or I strike you lightning.
I'm only joking, but I'd like to know from you. Prediction for the future? How do you think of Alanna's new attitude, especially to Fountain? And what do you think of Fountain? Could she help Alanna, or become even more of a burden?
And lastly, fav, follow, and share!
"Wait!"
What now Vivian?
"If you found an unopened pack of gum randomly in your room, would you eat it?"
... Oh God, I know what she's referring to. Time to go, bye!
"No, really, would you?!"