The next thing he remembered was not being able to breathe. His head, it seemed, was submerged in a murky body of water, being held down by a strong, callused hand. He thrashed about, attempting to free himself of the attacker, yet he hit nothing. Water entered his lungs, but they quickly rejected it; his brain screaming at him that it needed air, air! Suddenly, his head was pulled up by his attacker, and he was flung forward. For a moment, he was eager to be free of the hand's grip, but that was quickly replaced by alarm as he tumbled into the water again. This time, however, he was able to brace himself, landing on his hands and knees in water nearly up to his shoulders.

"Get up," snapped a gruff voice.

Jerome gagged, spitting up water and grime, his hands digging into the muck at the bottom of the lake. He felt groggy and disoriented, as if he'd been hit on the head recently. A boot nudged the back of his shoe unsympathetically. Grunting, Jerome flipped himself over so that he was sitting on his butt, his hands behind him for balance. He looked up at the glaring figure of Gale Hawthorne. The older boy had his arms crossed over his chest and what looked like a forming bruise on his jaw.

"Get. Up," Gale repeated in the same cold, robotic voice.

Jerome scowled at him. What was his problem? Nevertheless, he gingerly lifted himself up to stand before Gale. Comparing his height to the older boy's, Jerome found he was staring straight at that troubling bruise. Gale's sharp, gray eyes bore into him, almost as if they were forcing Jerome into a subordinate position, but he found that he wasn't intimidated by Gale's looming presence.

A memory flashed in Jerome's mind, pinching at the flesh of his brain like a needle. It was of when he first met Gale face to face on the boy's doorstep. Back then, Gale's eyes certainly scared Jerome, icy and cold. After being with him for a while, Gale's eyes had dulled slightly, but now they were back with the same intensity but an unfulfilling effect.

Gale's stare was impatient, as if he was waiting for Jerome to explain himself.

Jerome searched Gale's eyes for a clue, any clue of what he might have done to offend the other boy. He found nothing. Jerome finally asked indignantly, "What?"

"What?" Gale's voice was incredulous. "What?" He stepped forward toward Jerome, his fist balled in Jerome's shirt before he knew what was happening. "You're telling me you have the nerve to act like you didn't do anything wrong? Do you even comprehend what you've done? Or is your little merchant brain to pretty to hold that kind of uncleanliness?" When Gale spit the last word, like a curse, he raised his other fist as if to punch him. Jerome curved his head away, hoping to block his face from the blow, when suddenly a voice rang out from nearby.

"Gale!"

The two boys turned to see Delly, his sister, standing a little ways from the edge of the water, taking in the view of Gale and Jerome, her eyes stern. Gale lowered his fist, but instead of simply letting go of Jerome with his other hand, he shoved the younger boy away with such force that Jerome tripped backward and fell into the lake, water splashing up on his face. He growled in disgust up at Gale.

"What's your problem?" he snarled at Gale. When Gale gave Delly a disbelieving look, Jerome turned to his sister. "What's going on? Will someone tell me what the hell happened?"

Delly's eyebrows furrowed, just for a second, and then she was trudging into the water and was helping Jerome up. She led him out of the lake and sat him down on a rock. "Look at me," Delly instructed as she tilted her brother's chin up. He felt her eyes search his. Unsatisfied, Delly stepped back and examined Jerome in full, frowning. Just then, a sudden shock of dizziness coursed through Jerome like a bucket of freezing water dumped on his head. He swayed a bit before steadying himself, and then glanced up at Delly. The slight movement hadn't gone unnoticed by her, he could tell, but she said nothing, only raising her eyebrows minutely.

Finally, Delly broke the strange silence. "How do you feel?" she questioned.

Jerome swallowed. How did he feel? "Odd," he mulled. "Like someone just yanked me out of a dream- no. A nightmare."

Off to the side, Gale snorted. Jerome saw that he had come out of the water so quietly, he hadn't even noticed. Gale leaned on a tree, far enough to be out of the conversation between siblings, but close enough to be only a stride away if he needed to intervene.

Delly shot him a look, and then turned back to Jerome so that if he had blinked, he might have missed the movement. Her mouth moved to the side of her face as she considered Jerome's response. "And what's the last thing you remember?" she asked, almost tentatively.

Jerome thought for a moment, finding the way that both Gale and Delly were acting very bizarre. But then he thought back to before being submerged, and images flashed through his mind painfully like razor-sharp daggers piercing through Jerome's skull. An infirmary. Screaming patients. Flailing arms. Roaring of a familiar voice that was almost feral-sounding. Was that him? More images flashed. Primrose, lying on the floor like a ragdoll strewn aside. Gale, without the bruise on his face, looking furious. And Nan. She hit his mind like a firebomb in the face that was shoved down his throat only to explode in his heart, shattering it to piece. She was everywhere. And in every image, she was dead.

Jerome gasped, staring at Delly in shock. "What did I do?" he whispered. An overwhelming sea of horror slowly crept up his body like a spreading disease. Hissing thoughts swirled in his mind. Killer… Murderer…

Monster…

What have I done?

And Delly, his sister, his lovely, wonderful sister, looked into his eyes and understood. That was her gift. She knew the pain in other people's eyes. And in that moment, he knew he would be okay in Delly's care. She could fix him. Delly walked over to Jerome and knelt down, looking at his drooping, dubious eyes. She clasped his hands in hers and opened her mouth, but he interrupted her before she could speak.

"I killed her, didn't I?" he whispered, but his voice rose as he spoke. "I killed Nan, and then I was going to kill all of you. I-I'm a monster." Jerome stared at Delly, who looked horrified. Probably because she knew he would come after her first. That if she didn't get away soon, he would kill her, just like he killed Nan. That was why Gale was here. So that he could protect Delly from her own brother.

Images of a boy's body pressed through Jerome's mind like a punch in the gut. Aero, with a bashed in skull and burnt flesh quilting his skin. Jerome probably killed him, too. His best friend. And he turned on him. He tried to step away from Delly, to get away before he turned on her, too. "Let me go!" he shrieked. "Get away from me!"

Delly's grip on him tightened, but he broke free, falling backward onto the ground. Delly' voice was concerned. "No, no, Jerome, you didn't kill anyone. Listen to me. Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real. It's just from trauma." His sister sounded reasonable, but that didn't make sense. If he didn't kill anyone, why were they here, next to a foreign lake? Why had Gale tried to kill him, to eliminate the monster in order to save the people of Twelve? Jerome considered turning and bolting, to go off and kill himself so that the district would be safe, but Delly's pleading eyes froze him in place.

"Let me explain. Please." Delly stood, holding her hand out to Jerome. He stared at it, but then got up on his own. He backed away and stood a distance from Delly.

"Okay, go ahead."

Delly sighed, perhaps out of relief that he hadn't tried to run. Or maybe she was relieved to distance herself from the monster as much as he was eager to keep himself from her. Either way, Delly began:

"You remember what happened to the district, right Jerome? It was- it was bombed. By the Capitol. You were in the mines and only a few of you escaped. You, a girl named Sophia, and your… and Nan."

Two memories flashed in Jerome's mind: one, when he and Delly were in the fort that morning the day before—was it really only a day ago?—and Jerome had been talking to Delly in the same tone she was now. Like he was mad. Which he wasn't, was he? He considered it, but then concluded that you don't have to be mad for someone to speak to you in Delly's tone. After all, she hadn't been mad when he spoke to her in the fort. Just… frightened. Which he guessed he was.

The second memory was one of Nan, so bright and fierce in his mind that he almost felt the need to squint his eyes, even though it was only a memory. They had been walking in the mines and she was explaining something in a very animated tone, something about a story from a book. The title shone in his head: Theseus and the Minotaur. He almost smiled at the thought of her. But he didn't. Because she was dead now. And he had killed her.

Delly paused to examine Jerome's expression momentarily, but then continued. "When we got to camp—here, here is camp—you went to go find Nan. She was in the infirmary and she was sick. But she was sick before you brought her here, when you were in the mines. In fact, you had been the one to save her life. She was in the infirmary and when you went to go talk to her… Jerome, she was delirious; she didn't know who you were. And then, she… she died." Delly paused again to make sure Jerome had been following her. He nodded numbly, encouraging her to keep going. "When she died, you stayed by her side for a long time, not allowing anyone else to even come close. Rory came and found us—Gale and I—and we came to the infirmary. When we approached you, you lashed out at us. I don't know what was going through your head or what, but you were…" She trailed off; thinking of the right word when Jerome knew that word was 'insane'.

"Angry," Delly finished. "You got Gale in the jaw, and started thrashing around swinging at anyone who tried to calm you down. In the end, Gale had finally been able to grab you and bring you here."

The silence that followed was painful, like someone was slowly peeling away every layer in Jerome's body one by one until they reached the marrow of his bones. His voice sounded far off, detached, when he spoke. "How many people did I hurt?"

When Delly answered, she stuttered. "Well, no one was seriously injured, just-"

"How many people did I hurt, Delly?"

Delly swallowed.

"You hit Prim in the back of the head. She was the first." Image: Primrose, sprawled on the ground—ragdoll. "A few of the patients around Nan's bed got punched, but only one person had to get their stitches re-sewn." Screams entered his mind. He looked down at his hands to find the remnants of dried blood under his fingernails. He wasn't sure if it was from in the mines or from his rampage, or even whose blood it was. "I already told you about Gale, and…" Delly trailed off, but Jerome could tell she was withholding information. He glanced over at Gale, at the bruise he had put on his face, but Gale only looked away with disdain. Jerome turned back to Delly, and he noticed that she was looking at him with one side of her face deliberately turned away, not meeting his gaze. "It was from the trauma," she repeated, possibly just to herself, Jerome couldn't tell.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked softly, cringing because he thought he knew the answer, and he didn't like it.

Delly whispered in reply, "No."

He didn't believe her, and he wouldn't ever believe, her, but something inside him told him that if her answer he been different, he would have lost it altogether. He would have lost himself. And with the new knowledge that he was, supposedly, not a monster, he didn't want to lose himself. "Not a monster," he whispered, reassuring himself.

Delly went over to him, and he tensed. What if he'd been wrong? What if he lost himself right here, and he killed his sister? Jerome shut his eyes and held his breath as he allowed Delly to wrap her arms around him. He hesitated, testing to see if he was still lucid, that he hadn't turned into a monster yet. When he was sure he was still himself, Jerome allowed himself to hug Delly in return.