Chapter 11:
At those words, even the last man's attention turns to him and every man, every woman, every child in the building move their feet, forming a circle around the one on the table where Ripper usually provides her costumers with white liquor. Ripper herself is to be found behind her counter, her elbow placed on it, her head supported by her hand, the stump of her other arm as usually useless dangling from her shoulder. Interested but slightly absent, she nips on a bottle containing her own alcohol. As if to suppress what's happening.
"They storm in, upend every table, chair and commode, leave your house devastated, but before, they threat you. Tell you you're going to be arrested if you turn out to be hiding him. He's fled his home and duties, and everyone abetting this crime will be punished as greatly as the crime committed was."
Katniss' eyes widen, until they look twice their real size. She can only imagine what this threat means, what is going to happen to the poor devil who's been deceiving the witch. Although surely no one would dare, would they? She's known the people from her villages to be more of cowards than heroes, and for them it's every man for himself. Willingly, knowingly, they wouldn't betray her.
"I advise everyone who knows only the fraction of a piece about his stay, sell him out. For if you don't and they find out, mercy will no longer be a word they know of."
This, for sure, is real. It's the way everybody would behave, if purely out of fear. She herself wouldn't know if she'd make the heroic choice -again- if it came down to her own survival…or worse. For death couldn't be worse than torment and agony.
She doesn't make the half-turn she should to see Sea's face darkening, her lips next to Peeta's ear immediately after, she doesn't hear a voice that may cut through marble whisper frantically all but incoherent words into it. Hastily, her face hard as a stone, Sae's long fingers loop around his wrist and pull him away from the scenery, slowly so no one shall notice. Not even the girl right in front of him.
And she doesn't. She stares rigid at the man, who -she only now realizes- has a fresh lash gracing his lower arm, an angry read streak on the otherwise pale skin. Horror fixes her gaze onto it. Whips are not unknown to her village, but uncommon. The crime committed must be something horrid as murder for guards to crack the whip. And beat it onto a bare back.
She takes a step closer, the wood cracking beneath her boots, audible through the silence in the room. To her utter relief, no single head turns her way, for the same second the girl closest to the man, whom Katniss recognizes as Leevy, someone from her closer neighborhood, cries out.
"Did they do this to you?", she shrieks, in a tone that might have had everyone covering their ears on another occasion, but not this time, for there are more horrible things in the world than a voice may ever pronounce.
The man's eyes, if possible, narrow even more, so they're almost closed when he answers, "I tried to block their way when I wanted into my house. Claimed there was nothing we are hiding, which there isn't. So the guard lashed out. Told me next time, it wouldn't be just my arm. So…," he lowers his head as if in shame, "I granted them access."
And then her feet go into action. Because this scenario, she can imagine herself in. Not letting them enter their home to protect Prim, her mother, even Peeta. Although, not unlikely even, he might just throw himself in front of her. As redemption. And also, Katniss has a feeling her family, perhaps including herself, has grown to him. As he has to them.
Her hand can merely grab for who's standing behind her afore she starts pushing through the crowd, ignoring the outbursts of pain and anger, as well as the grunt of protest from behind her. Only half way through she realizes the voice is male, but too deep and harsh to be Peeta's. Although, her brain refuses to see him protesting like this. She's never heard these curses out of his mouth; they'd probably made him flush in embarrassment if he were to hear them. Peeta doesn't curse -never has once in the month he's been with them.
She turns around while still elbowing people aside, and rests only for a moment, out of shock, when she sees the man behind her. His hair is greasy, his eyes stormy and from his mouth floods a scent which is almost as repulsive as his words are. She lets go of his -how she now notices- all too hairy wrist while putting her hands up, as if in surrender. Only she isn't surrendering. It's more out of disgust. They're still damp; he must have spilled some kind of liquor across his arm and drops of something that smells of whine is dripping from his beard. His voice is slurry, confirming the drunken state of his she assumed, as he hisses,
"Finally observing properly, are we? Not that lad of yours, am I?"
She recognizes him only now, spitting those obviously meant to be insults at her. Mixed with some drops of she doesn't want to know what. He is the man that sold her the pencil. She knew she wouldn't like him back then already. She didn't know there'd be a time where she'd loath him.
"Where is he? He was standing right behind me."
To her dismay, he bows down until they're at eye level, and leans in as her mother would years ago when she'd peck her daughters cheek. She moves away swiftly, glancing around as if to make sure no one saw; but they didn't, somehow they're too occupied by themselves, maybe finding their children. She must have sent them moving when they realized what she was doing without noticing.
The man grabs her wrist, and bile rises in her throat. Can't he just answer her. He must know. He must have seen him go. Maybe home, to Prim, maybe he was thinking faster. But wouldn't he have pulled her with him?
"Damn it, girl," he says pulling her face to his. Not being able to help herself -he has about one foot on her and thus is far too strong, though to his intoxication- she succumbs. After all, what can he do in a hall full of people? Surely he wouldn't rape her. He wouldn't. At least she could try biting him when he's close enough. Or kicking his shin or…other regions that'll hurt him without a doubt. For she isn't certain they'd notice. Not for the first time it occurs to her how one can be in a room full of people and utterly alone at the same time.
Only when he moves from her cheek to her ear does she even guess his real intention. And when he begins to hiss into it, words fast and if she wasn't listening carefully, trying not to miss a single word, barely understandable, she knows he isn't going to misuse her -though no one would judge her for the assumption, it has happened more than once in the Hob. Trust him, though, she does not.
"Was time for him to vanish. Haven't pieced it together yet? A strange boy coming from the woods without memory, a boy searched a mere month later? Can't make the connection? Thought you were a smart one."
Katniss' eyes grow with his every word. One revelation and it can have such an effect on her. But it's clear. It should have been obvious to her from the very start. A million questions swirl through her head, and yet it feels empty. There's a pang in her chest, as if she'd been betrayed. Only this is bunk. She saw the sadness and forlornness in his hollow eyes; they weren't sparkling the way they should be. They never were, even when he seemed happy. He never quiet knew where he belonged, and this isn't something that can be faked. Not over this period of time, anway.
"Y'know what that means? They," he gestures to the people surrounding them, spilling out of the Hob and running home through their families, "will remember once their first shock is gone, too. And don't you believe they'll cover up for you. Get your family and hide, if you know where. Don't waste a second in taking a thing. You're good at sneaking off, aren't you?"
Normally, the indirect exposure of her hunting trips would have angered, perhaps even scared her. After all, this is punishable by death. But there are far more important things on her mind right now. Also, she has a feeling, however unreasonable it might be, this man isn't out to kill her. Otherwise he wouldn't be warning her. Why he isn't, she doesn't know. But it doesn't matter at the moment. Wonder, she can later.
She nods once, indicating she understand, and then bites her lip. A question's a the tip of her tongue, and she has a feeling if she swallows it, it'll be like a heavy weight inside her stomach. And stay there.
"Where is he? Where is he going?"
The man lets out a bark, and she supposes it is the way he laughs. And he's laughing at her. Her face gets red; not only from embarrassment but also from frustration. He's wasting her time, time she doesn't have, but she can't go afore she knows.
"Answer me!"
He lets out another puff of air before saying, "Surprised you care." Katniss snarls, unconsciously but he sees. "He's somewhere safe. Don't worry 'bout him. Worry 'bout yourself. Now go."
She doesn't grant him or his sarcastic tone another word or even gaze. Her feet beat against the floor as she pushes through the crowd, forward, forward, never glancing back, ignoring shoves and curses and men. Once there's fresh, cool air, not the heat of umpteen bodies and the dust of coal surrounding her, setting her free, her movements get faster, faster, until she thinks she's is flying across the ground. Back to her family, afore the guards come, afore people remember. She's aware she racing against no other opponent than time, and humans can rarely beat the fastest, most uncontrollable enemy they have. Never, truly. It'll always get them; if it's only on their deathbed.
However, Katniss hopes to win temporarily, and delaying its catch just a little longer. So it won't be too late for Prim, her mother and herself. Otherwise deathbed might be just the right word.
And then, she almost stops as she realizes there's no way they'll ever escape them. If they run, it'll make their fault -even if they never hid him on purpose, but who would believe three refugees, fleeing from guards and explanations- more obvious to those who aren't listening open minded, and she knows there'll be none of those. They will catch them. Even if they manage to flee the village, if they succeed in getting to the woods unseen in all the jumble, they will eventually be caught, for the whole sentry of the witch will be out to find them; and there must be many, if there's never been any uprisings against her reign.
Hopelessness rises in her; fate is playing its cruel trick on the young girl again. Maybe as punishment for her disbelief. Maybe to prove its existence to her. How can anyone ever truly know why fate directs life the way it does? There can be pretenders, there can be sages, there can be trees or men as old as time itself; they couldn't tell if they wanted to.
She's worked all these years to keep her family alive; she's broken the law every night to ensure their survival, deprived herself of hopeless sleep and comfort and now she's going to lose the battle against death because she thought to be noble once? She saved a life and now she's being punished? Ironic, isn't it? She could save a stranger's life, but not her own. Tears of frustration threaten to spill over, but she wipes them away angrily as she doubles her speed, despite her protesting, sore muscles, not used to a spring this long, despite the sweat running down her forehead and the ache in her feet as they crash against the hard ground time and time again.
She tells herself she should hate him for it, she wants the anger and betrayal she felt before to reignite, so she can blame it on someone, anyone really. Her failing isn't something she can just confess to herself, because she can't, she can't have failed her father, her sister, even her mother -no matter if the latter failed her after her father's death and is a scapegoat to place the blame on, too.
But she has to, and much worse, she can't regret her actions no matter how hard she tries. She can't forget his agony filled cries from that night, she can't forget his words and smile, she can't forget his paintings. She can't forget a single detail, and all those details put together make it impossible for her to regret. Not even her attraction to him, not even smoothing back his hair when he was having a nightmare as she came home afore dawn broke, when she couldn't bear waking him, or seeing him in pain. She can't regret remembering him leaning into her touch and relaxing as for a few hours, peace overtook him completely. The bubble she'd managed to create for Prim, she gave to him in sleep.
Back then it hadn't felt important, not memorable, not worth telling him in the mornings, not worth telling anyone. Only now, as her skin fights against the icy wind, the tears and snot it causes to draw from her, her long braid like a whip against her back, boosting and hurting her equally, she perceives the value of those little, unspoken gestures. Both hers and his. Often she didn't really notice a soothing smile, a kind word to Prim, the detail he put into every sketch like it was the most important thing in the world, or just plain ignored it.
And for all those small things, she can't hate him. They somehow overpower her want to feel anger -it's not his fault. He didn't remember. Why he was in the woods, she still doesn't know. She doesn't care, either, because abruptly, her steps stop as she's frantically banging on her own door, hoping it won't crack with the combination of fists and feet hammering against it.
Her hands are raw from clapping against the wood, her toes must be spilling blood from the way her nails bore painfully into the flesh, but she is beyond caring. She has to get to Prim, to her mother, and she has to come up with something to protect them, take the blame off them. She prays they've both heard the news and are home already.
She almost punches her mother, causing her to retreat into the house, when the door is opened. Katniss storms in and shuts it so quickly there's a loud sound, and she swears she hears a cracking, before collapsing backwards against it, panting uncontrollably.
"Katniss!", her mother exclaims. "Are you…?"
"I'm fine!", Katniss bursts. "Now anyway."
Her mother's blue eyes widen, half in confusion half in sorrow at her daughter's behavior. "What is that supposed to mean?" She glances at the door, as if it wasn't the same as always. "And where's Peeta? Haven't you taken him with you?"
She nods, unable to form words as she rubs every kind of fluid off her face with the back of her hand. "Haven't you heard it?", she manages to breath out in between gasps.
Both her mother and Prim, who's just come running from the door upon hearing her family's conversation, shake their heads, and Katniss sighs as she sinks a little further down onto the floor. The woman and Prim make to grab her arms and pull her up, but she weakly stammers a "I'm OK", and with a huff pushes herself off, clinging to the last bits of the adrenaline which had driven her here and to the door's knob.
"He's the mistress' son. And they're searching for him. To punish him for something I'd describe as treason. You know what that means."
She expects confirmation of her words in her family's faces, but she gets none of this. It may be a lot to take in, she ponders, and unexpected as well. But clearly lain out to them, as it hadn't been to her. Instead, her mother clutches the back of the chair closes to her, and falls onto it limply. She brings her hand up to her temple, rubbing it while squeezing her eyes tightly. Prim just stands there, unmoving, disbelief written across her face, as clearly visible as the sky's blue on a flawless spring day.
"He's her son?", her sister gapes. "How do you know? Are you sure? Are they going to kill him?"
Slowly, Katniss lets go of the knob, and lifts her arms slightly, as if balancing herself over to Primrose. Her beautiful face is distorted in sorrow and shock, and her large blue eyes shine with unshed tears. Katniss puts her arms around the young girl and lets her chin rest on Prim's head, even though doing so is becoming quite difficult, as her sister is growing. But it doesn't matter now, for both of them need each other's comfort and for once, Katniss can't lie to the younger one. Not if she will try to save them from the guards' chains.
"He is. How I know isn't important. But I do. And other people will, too. The guards will come looking for us the second they're told and when they are, you have to pretend you didn't know until they told you. And you didn't know when he was here, which is the truth, so it should be easier on you. You too, mother. Maybe they'll believe us."
Only now it is she realizes how she shouldn't have told them. Their surprise would have been real and much more convincing. Although the guards may fall for Prim's charm, she knows neither if that'll be enough, nor if her mother won't mess things up. And she can't have her, because the moment they realize she lied about one thing, they'll no doubt believe she lied about everything else, too, without giving it a second thought. And worst of all, Katniss can't say she'd blame them. Wouldn't she figure the same in their place?
And just then, there is a bang at the door, louder than Katniss' had been in all her panic, causing the sisters to part their embrace and a voice forceful and viciously dark booms through, "Open, or we'll break the pathetic wood."
"Coming," their mother says, to her older daughters astonishment and slight admiration, gathering her wits together and fixing her face, dispelling the worry that covered her features just seconds ago.
When the door cracks open, it takes only a matter of seconds before both guards have pulled her by her arms, keeping her in place with their strong muscles, and she is not even fighting them. In actual fact, she looks to stunned to even notice what's going on; it all happened so fast.
Only Prim's cry of distress brings Katniss back to reality, for even she couldn't believe her own eyes for a second. One of the brown headed, bulky man retaining their mother speaks up.
"All of you are arrested. You girls better follow us, otherwise we'll have to kill your precious mother in order to get our hands free. Wouldn't want that, would you? But first answer this question: Where is he?"
"Where's who? And why are you doing this? We haven't done anything to displease anyone, how will you justify this ambush?"
The woman's voice is somewhat calm, much to her daughters' amazement, but there's a fearful edge to it, which Katniss assumes given her current circumstance isn't particularly unreasonable. She, herself, wants to scream, tear, lunge at them, to free her mother. But they're too tall, too well built, too strong for her to take. If she had her bow, she would be at advantage, she knows, but in the long run even her weapon wouldn't help her. So she just sits there in shock, half real half fake.
The guard only laughs cruelly, striking her with his fist, causing the girls to flinch, but her mother just to hang slackly in their grip, her body convulsing but her face not betraying one single emotion.
"You know fully well what I'm talking about, what you've done. You know, don't lie to me."
"No she doesn't." Without realizing it, Katniss has risen, forcing the men's eyes onto her, her head held high and proud, her face as hard as theirs. And her voice isn't even shuddering, as she is inwardly, when she says,
"She can't. Neither of them can. We haven't told them. It was all me. I knew. I knew who he was. We pretended a memory loss so they wouldn't ask questions. He's a good actor. We thought that maybe you wouldn't find him here, concealed as my patient. Let her go, she's guiltless. Take me instead. I take the full blame."
Yup, I'm back. Finally. You have no idea how much I missed writing. And I really hope you like this chapter, cause I have to admit, I do. I don't know, am I cruel?
Anway, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I'd be overly grateful if you told me you opinion.
