Chapter 14

Mementos

Johanna

I force myself to breathe on the train – I'll get through this. I tell myself I'm no good to anyone panicked – if the rebels show up I can cry once I'm safe with them. Or once I'm dead … whichever happens.

We get there, and this time I don't bother to wave and try to ingratiate myself with the people who want to kill me.

There's not much time to congregate with the other tributes before they usher us off to be made pretty again, but I do see the drama from District 12. Haymitch insists on carrying his own trunk to his room – when the Capitol servants try to take it from him they're unable to lift it. Haymitch hurriedly takes it back and lifts it and the servants stare, stunned – it doesn't even look like it's that heavy for him. "Steroids!" Peeta says cheerfully with a way-too-big smile plastered on his face. The servants give him a skeptical look, but go about their business.

Once again, I submit to being waxed and endlessly scrubbed and basically tortured. I hear Blight hollering in the room next to me. "At least you're not as hairy as Spruce," I call to him with a laugh, thinking about how long it must have taken to get him the to the hairless-as-a-newborn baby state they seem to like around here. One of the prep team members raises an eyebrow and two of them exchange a look – I'm sure they want to know what occasioned my discovery of his hairiness, considering I can't really be judging by his arms considering we're always covered up in District 7 since it's always cold. My hair is cut and washed and I've been waxed everywhere, and the stylist herself steps in. She dismisses her prep team, which is sort of unusual. She was the stylist for District 4 when I won – I thought she was just filling in when she was Spruce and Juniper's stylist last year, but now I wonder who she ticked off to get "demoted."

"Do you have any of Spruce's things?" she asks me in a hushed tone after dismissing her prep team. I do – I took the few things I was given by the Gamemakers to his father in lieu of a body – glasses and a knit wool cap that I had had to wash a sickening amount of blood and what I think was brain matter out of – and the old drunk took the glasses and put them up on his mantle and sat down to drink another bottle of whiskey. At least he looked like he'd cried a little – based on what I found out about him from the villagers who took me to Spruce's cabin, I half expected him to be complaining about how he could have been living in a fancy cabin with better booze if his son had been a more willing killer. When I asked if he wanted the hat – the thing his son had actually worn before the Games – he looked at me like I was crazy and asked, "Why would I want that?" I sighed and held onto it – it sat in my living room for a year, a sick reminder of the Games, because it didn't feel right to throw it out. I thought about trying to send it to Stephen's family in 5, since Spruce had used it to help him, but then I remembered he was an orphan and I doubted very seriously that would be an official-enough reason for inter-District mail. I grabbed it off my coffee table at the last minute before the Reaping – to play along with Marty's crazy idea about saying we were lovers because why the hell not. I can tell them I've been sleeping with it on my pillow because it smelled like him or some crap.

"Why?" I ask, wondering why in the hell she would care if I took any of his things unless Marty's already been running his mouth and she's got his underwear or something and she thinks I should have it. (If that's the case I will murder someone.)

"Do you?"
"Yes. I have the hat that was his token in my bag."
"Do you think you could go up to your room and get it before the parade?"
"Why?" I ask, starting to get creeped out.

"I want to incorporate it into your costume."
"I'm going to be a tree wearing a hat?" I ask, and the mental image almost makes me laugh.

"No – a lumberjack." I'm surprised – we're actually going outside of District 7's comfort zone. Of course we'll probably look more like lumberjack-themed strippers but I'll take what I can get. Especially since, if she's incorporating Spruce's token, she's got a rebellious streak going on.

I'm about to leave when Justinian Hammer, one of Snow's toadies, shows up. I have no idea why he's here, considering he's in charge of weapons manufacturing. He builds some of the obstacles in the Games (which usually don't work), but that's his only connection to the Games. I bet he was thrilled Howard Stark turned out to be a traitor – Stark's tech worked so much better the Capitol always bought it rather than his, even though they had to pay to transport it and keep it secret during that transport. "It's so good to see you again, Felicia," he says, ignoring me completely. I start to walk past him to get the hat.

"Wait here, please," he says to me in the same tone you'd use on a dog. I really want to hit him but I contain myself. He takes me by the hands and rolls up my sleeves – I'm very tempted to break his jaw. I don't have any babies for the Capitol to kill this time.

"See – that's going to be a problem," he says, pointing to my tattoos. His voice is incredibly annoying – high-pitched and it always sounds like he's whining.

"Oh – I was going to put her in a long-sleeved shirt after all, would you like to see the sketch?" Felicia says quickly.

"Even so, I have my orders," Hammer says, and my heart starts to race.

"Then I'll cover them with make-up to be safe," Felicia cuts in.

"But still – there would be the Games to think about. Things happen, jackets get torn. I realize this is a sensitive issue and I appreciate that but …"
"No – they're mine. They're like gravestones …"
"That's the whole issue, I'm afraid – the President is concerned that the tattoos might raise some … thorny questions."
"So what? It's not my fault you didn't report their deaths as a tragic accident while you had the chance," I say defensively, backing up as far as I can – but he holds tight to my hands and I can't get away unless I hurt him. And that seems more and more like a viable option.

"Be that as it may, I have my orders."

"Just go along, Johanna, you can have them reapplied when you get home," Felicia pleads. But that's not the point. I still remember the smell of the ink and the blood as I got these – the pain was focused in my skin instead of my head for once and I felt I could carry a part of them with me everywhere. It was the first time I felt like I could get up and go on. I dig my heels in, and Hammer tugs harder. I slug him in the face – what are they gonna do, kill me? – and he whistles for someone.

Two huge men come to try to drag me away, but I fight hard. I punch and kick and scream – the stylist from 12 comes and tries to plead my case. He suggests they cover my arms with henna that's been infused with flesh-colored dye – it'll stay on for several weeks even if I get it wet. If I thought there was a chance in hell they'd go for that, I'd calm down – even if their names were hidden, I'd know they were there. But the next thing I know, I feel a pinprick, and everything goes fuzzy and even though I fight to stay awake, I can't.

Blight is holding my hand when I wake up. "It's okay, Johanna – they were just tattoos …" he tells me.

"Did they take your wife's name? Your parents'?" I ask. His wife died of pneumonia a couple of years before he was my mentor – Marty says that's when he threw himself into mentoring.

"No. I guess old age and an unsuspicious pneumonia death won't raise too many questions," he says gently as I sit up, still feeling a little sick from the sedation. I don't look at my arms. I want to pretend that Grandpa and my babies' names are still there. "Did they take my parents' names too?" I ask, still afraid to look.

"No. They apparently know those won't raise any questions." And they weren't Snow's fault – I know he's had this ordered to remind me just how much power he has. I'm sure he thinks it'll break me – I won't let it. If the rebels bother to come pick us up, I'll have them redone, in neon ink this time.

Apparently they let Blight get into my bags – he's about the only person who doesn't make me feel violated to know that. As we're about to go to the chariots, he hands me Spruce's hat with a smile – I'm sure no one will recognize it, but it's a little act of defiance I'm perfectly happy with. Felicia puts it over my head and then arranges my hair artfully so I still look pretty. I'm surprised by how not-stripperiffic the outfit is – the flannel shirt – or at least it looks like flannel, it sure doesn't feel like it – and dark denim pants are more fitted than anything I would wear to cut trees, but I'm completely covered. Blight is in a simple white shirt and khaki pants and the heavy leather gloves of a carpenter. For all I know they're his gloves – they look worn, and I know he kept doing carpentry work even after he won as a hobby. His talent was woodcarving – he's very good at it.

As we start to line up I see the other tributes and I smile – the stylists put aside their differences to do something all as one, for once. Well, all except 1, 2, 4, and 8 – but what are you going to do? Finnick is in some kind of netting that is woven strategically so he's not technically naked. He's all winks and smiles – I roll my eyes at him.

Beatee and Wiress wear the lab coats, safety glasses and heavy gloves I assume they wore for work. Because this is the Capitol, some kind of flashing lights are embedded in the labcoats – actually, they're more like power lines, similar to what was in District 3's costumes last year. Oleum wears the simple work outfit with heavy boots of an oilfield worker, Jack looks ready to climb the electric poles. Kara and Cab are dressed like train conductors, but they've got flowers painted on their faces. I have no idea if that was their choice or not, but either way it makes me laugh. Malt and Hops are dressed like a brewery worker and a grain farmer, respectively. Chaff and Seeder wear the overalls and wide-brimmed hats they wear to work in the fields – Chaff has a shiny foil scythe that, while very fragile, looks authentic, and Seeder has a basket that is woven much more elaborately than the baskets they probably actually have.

District 8 broke with the other stylists, but the costumes are much more tasteful than usual – Cecelia looks lovely in a black satin dress and Woof is dashing (for his age) in a silk suit. It's a dramatic blue, but it's still the Capitol's idea of subtlety.

As I climb into the chariot, I finally see Duke, up by 6 petting one of the horses. He's striking in all black – black leather boots, black jeans, a black shirt, a long black duster jacket, and a black felt cowboy hat. Much better than the pink and purple ones his District usually has to wear, or the awful horse thing his little brother had to wear. Maria's already waiting back in her chariot, and her costume is almost a color inversion of his – pale denim pants, a white blouse, a white straw hat, and a red bandana for color. He turns and sees me and gives me a smile – I'm amazed to see how clean and authentic it looks, considering I know exactly how insane he must have gone when they told him Clint was gone.

Then I realize he's not smiling at me – he's smiling at the little girl standing at my side. I turn to see Primrose Everdeen, the little girl I might have to die for if the rebels fall through. Cinna's got her looking even more angelic than usual – she's wearing a long, simple white dress almost like a robe, with wings on the back. Her make-up's done very simply to emphasize how young she is. I'll just bet she's got a halo that'll light up when the chariots start – if it does, I'll gag. "Can I pet it too?" she asks, nervous about the huge animals.

"Sure – Whitie's a sweetheart," he says, and holds out his hand to her. She takes it, completely unfazed by reports of his growing instability, and he puts his hands under her arms and lifts her. She makes a sound of surprise and delight as he sets her on the horse – I'm not sure if he just knows what a great photograph the little white angel on the white horse will make or if he just wants to make her happy. Probably both. Either way the horse trainers yell at him and the few photographers allowed into the waiting area frantically snap photographs, probably thrilled with their exclusive. I turn and look for Haymitch and find him standing close by, arms crossed, watching Duke with curiosity. He's dressed like a coal miner even though he never had to actually mine – they don't send them until they're older. Probably in hopes they'll die or something before they get old enough to earn a wage, considering how much the Capitol seems to hate 12. "He's a gelding," Duke explains to Primrose as she sits on the horse, looking naturally photogenic and beautiful, unaware of the photographers. "That means he's a boy but he's gentle like a mare – a girl horse." Because it's been castrated – I notice he leaves that out of the explanation. I know from the way Duke smiles for her that he's ready to die for her too – I wonder if he even knows we might get rescued or if he's so suicidal he doesn't care.

"How do you know him?" Primrose asks, and Duke's face goes dark for a minute.

"He used to belong to … someone I knew. The Capitol took him away."
"Oh – I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It was a long time ago." My throat tightens a little – is he referring to the circus people that were murdered? I don't think Finnick was supposed to tell anyone about that but he told me once.

"Barton – we're two minutes behind as it is," a horse trainer barks.

"Guess you better go get in your chariot, Angel," Duke tells her as he lifts her down. He walks with her as far as his own chariot, then he climbs in and wipes the smile off his face and looks as stoic as possible when the chariots begin to move.

The audience seems confused by the downplayed costumes this year – but they still cheer and clap, even if it's not as enthusiastic.

I catch a look at District 12 on the reflective banners – Primrose rides on Haymitch's shoulders, much to the delight of the crowd. Her costume does have a halo. I manage not to actually gag.

"Johanna, look at your sleeves," Blight whispers suddenly, surprising me. I look down and almost cry – they're covered in letters that only started to glow when the chariot began to move. Even upside down, I know exactly what they are – on the right, Hatchet, Wes, and Spruce, and on the left, David and Pine. The oldest to the youngest, since I didn't know what order they died. Felicia must have known what Hammer was going to have done to me. I look up and try to keep my face neutral, but my chest is heavy with many things – the potent mix of joy and grief that always comes from reciting those names, sorrow at the knowledge that Felicia will almost certainly be killed for this act of defiance, and maybe just a little bit of fear.

We pull up to the other end of the stadium. Instead of the usual lingering and talking, our mentors (those of us who have them) and escorts hurry us away. Just as a group of us get into the elevator to leave, I hear the pop of a gunshot and I know it's Felicia. "Who are they shooting, Haymitch?" Primrose asks from right behind me. I half expect someone to lie to her and say it's just fireworks or something and I turn to tell her the truth, but the District 12 stylist puts a hand on her shoulder and tells her, "Someone very brave, Prim. Someone willing to make a statement." So despite the angel outfit, he at least respects her intelligence and maturity. That's a plus in my book.

Duke's in the elevator too – he shudders and his eyes have the faraway look I expected all along. "At least it was only one," he says.

Training is even more of a waste of time than usual – we've already seen each other's skill set, and we're not suddenly going to get back in shape in one week.

Haymitch Abernathy has Primrose securely under his wing. I thought we would have to wait until we got into the Arena to see who was on Team Primrose – but Haymitch just comes out and asks us. Why not – we're beyond pretense at this point.

More accurately, he asks us while he has Duke kneeling by Prim, showing her how to shoot. He doesn't want her to hear any of our plans – she's too young and she could easily blurt stuff out to the tributes who will most definitely not be on our side. While Prim is practicing "camouflage painting" with the morphlings (who are technically in on it too but too stoned to actually help much, and are in fact currently painting stars and abstract shapes on each other), he gets everyone gathered – Blight and I, Chaff and Seeder, Beatee and Wiress, Duke and Maria, Cecelia and Woof, and Finnick and Mags. Emilianus stares at Finnick and Mags – out in an obvious alliance with the, for shame, non-Careers – and drags a finger across his throat like it's a knife at Finnick. Finnick responds with a careless smile and a shrug, and when the idiot goes on his way we start discussing our strategy. The most obvious solution would be to just surround Prim like a meat wall and kill every Career that comes at us. The problem is the Gamemakers would break that up as soon as they saw it. So Finnick is going to be Prim's personal bodyguard – he's still deadly with a trident – while Duke follows them at a distance and acts as a sniper to anyone trying to sneak up on them. The rest of us are going to scatter and run interference, theoretically keeping any of the hostiles from getting that close. And murder the hell out of each other when all the hostiles are down – we have the very unpleasant task of deciding how that goes down. Right now it looks like, assuming I survive that long, I kill Duke, then Finnick and I kill each other. By that point it will be very obvious – Duke lets me kill him, and Finnick and I agree on screen to thrust the trident and swing the axe at the same time. Open defiance – Duke and I don't have anyone left and I'm guessing Finnick's been promised the rebels will keep Annie safe. I want to ask Haymitch how exactly this helps if the rebels do come for us – last year they had Anthony get everyone in one place and they still didn't get everyone, and that was with the Capitol being much less prepared. As though he's read my mind – and probably everyone's mind – Haymitch says, "Of course – certain events may precipitate we scrap all this and stay together. Perhaps even events that take place before the Games." I suspect this means that if the Games start and the rebels haven't showed, we're playing it through to the end. Fantastic.

After training we all go drinking instead of going to our rooms – of course we do. Except Primrose – Cecelia takes her up to put her in bed before joining us. I wonder how exactly you put a thirteen-year-old to bed. I sit alone – Blight is busy drinking with the other men around his age. Duke comes to sit by me. I don't particularly want him to since I might have to kill him, but then again it's not like I'll have to live with it for long. The most obvious point of conversation would be the fact we both have dead little siblings, but we decide to forgo that because it's hard to get properly drunk on Capitol liquor.

"Marty wants me to tell everyone that me and Spruce were lovers. Spruce my tribute, not …"
"I figured," he says with a laugh. "Were you?"

"No. He made me think too much of my Spruce … and my David … to think of him that way."
"It was on the celebrity news that you had occasion to know he was hairier than Blight though," Duke says with a wicked smile – I don't think I've ever seen him smile like that, ever. Stylists are officially incapable of keeping their mouths shut. "They were naturally thrilled at the idea you knew how hairy either one of them was. Maybe you should run with it and then Blight can act all jealous." Please.
"I walked in on tribute Spruce getting out of the shower. Yes he was shy, yes he was hairy, and yes he was … fortunate. If only in that."
"And Blight?"
"He doesn't sleep in a shirt. Or go to breakfast in one."

"I think the tribute-mentor romance angle makes for a better story. But then again, it might soften your image if you brought up David and your Spruce."

"Maybe I don't want it to be softened." But it would spit in the Capitol's face more – I like admitting the brother connection for that reason.

"You want to know something?" As he asks, Duke leans over to me, so that our lips are very close. It's so ironic that going to his death has given him more life than I've seen in him in … ever.

"What?"
"I still think about you sometimes. Not just … not just for sad reasons." I smile. I don't know if it's an act – there's no cameras around here but that doesn't mean it's not an act – but I don't mind this one. Not that I've been sitting in 7 pining for him or anything – I've had other things on my mind, and I really don't know him that well – but he's handsome. I lean closer to him and our lips lock.

The moment gets very promptly ruined by Chaff yelling at Duke to look at the screen behind the bar. It's his escort being interviewed, and at first I don't see what's so exciting about it, considering they interview the escorts during training every year, but Marcellus has a tortured expression on his face, and I feel like we've come in on a very tense moment.

"I'm sorry?" Caesar Flickerman asks, and he looks uncharacteristically flustered – terrified even – like even he doesn't know what to do with whatever Marcellus just said.

"The Reaping was fixed. They said the audience was getting bored with all the recent Career wins and wanted an outlier … the Gamemakers thought Clint would be like his brother." Duke shatters the glass he's holding. "I was told to call his name last in the preliminaries if I hadn't drawn him already, and then call his name no matter who I drew at the Reaping. I loved that little boy … I watched him grow up … I knew his brother only lived for him … I betrayed him … I betrayed them both …" The screen goes black and then changes to a fashion piece. You could hear a pin drop in the bar – I don't dare look at Duke because I'm afraid if I see his face I'll lose it. I imagine if I had played along and the fire hadn't happened, but then one of my babies died in the Games, and then Cassius admitted he rigged it to get them … only I don't like Cassius so I'd be furious but not betrayed. Marcellus is – was, I'm sure he was pulled off and shot immediately – one of the few escorts anyone liked. We all suspected the Reapings were rigged sometimes, but now we know it for sure and we know how.

"Duke …" Finnick says at last, heading towards the still dead-quiet Duke. "Duke, you're bleeding, you should go to the doctor … Duke …" I look over at Duke at last and see his face is pale and completely blank – he looks like someone going into shock, but his cuts, while nasty, aren't nearly bad enough to cause that. It's the look he had on his face when he looked over all the dead tributes after the bloodbath six years ago. His hand is just resting on the counter in the middle of the broken glass. Even Emilianus doesn't have anything to say – this is a disgusting turn of events, even for a loyal District 2 Career. Finnick puts his arms around Duke, trying to reach him, but he looks like wherever he is, it's a million miles away from here.