CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: BETWEEN TWO WORLDS


"Never was anything great achieved without danger."

Niccolo Machiavelli


Am I in danger?

Yes, always.

But Haymitch won't tell me why. Nobody will tell me why. What have I done, besides win the Games like I was told?

Because I'm so frustrated with him, I avoid Haymitch's eyes for the rest of our journey. He doesn't speak, and I follow his cue. We've said all we're allowed to anyway; we can't exchange any further information until we're in a private location. I understand this, but I still resent it. Because – and I don't think they see it this way, but who really cares what they think? – I am forced to live, virtually alone, in a giant mansion, where I must wallow in suffocating luxury, while Haymitch gets to dash between districts, executing secret missions that I'm not permitted to be involved with at all. How is that fair? Why does it matter that I be 'happy and settled' in the Capitol? Who does that actually fool? Why does Snow want me within his sight, always, and why has Haymitch agreed to that plan?

Why is my going home such a big deal?

Too many convoluted questions. My head starts to pound somewhere around District 9, so I close my eyes and try to imagine that I'm in a beautiful meadow back home, separate from all this drama and confusion. This daydream lasts the remainder of our trip.

Although I'm purposely ignoring the passage of time, Districts 9 through 11 must whiz by in just a few hours because before I know it, before I'm wholly ready, the train is pulling up to the tiny, dilapidated platform on the outskirts of my home district. My heart beats an unsteady rhythm, and my palms leak with perspiration. Anxiety blooms in my chest, but so does relief, so does eagerness, so does excitement.

I'm a mess of emotions, and I feel uncomfortable being so out-of-control.

As we exit the train, Haymitch brushes close by me. He speaks so quietly, I barely see his lips moving. "Your trip has been cut short, I'm afraid."

I tense. "What do you mean?"

"Keep your eyes forward, and smile, for Christ's sake!" Haymitch sighs, exasperated. "I mean, President Snow has decreed that your trip will last four days. You are not to leave the Victor's Village during that time. Following these instructions is extremely important, Katniss."

A deafening wave of noise hits us then, and I see that at least half of District 12 is staring my way, clapping and hooting and acting like fools. My throat dries up at the sight of their ragged clothing, their listless eyes, and I feel embarrassed for the way I'm dressed. My lips tighten, and although it's barely noticeable, the crowd's volume seems to diminish a little.

Haymitch and I shoulder through the crowd with the help of some Peacekeepers, but the welcoming shouts and cheerful cries blow right past me. Four days? I was supposed to stay for eight! Snow has cut my visit in half.

"What have I done?" I whisper hoarsely. "Tell me. What have I done wrong?"

He shakes his head, then nods quickly to someone out of sight. "Not now. This isn't something you can control. Do you understand? This decision is out of your hands. Just please don't…do anything rash."

Haymitch seems genuinely worried that I might flip out and start shooting arrows at people or something, so I nod and take several steadying breaths. I'm so steeped in my anger that I barely acknowledge the parting crowd or the waiting hovercraft. More than twenty Peacekeepers surround it, and suddenly I'm not sure why they're here – to block the citizens from advancing on me and the hovercraft, or to keep me separate, isolated, from their questioning eyes.

Shivering, I slide into the gleaming hovercraft, Haymitch right behind me. My hands are shaking, but not with nerves. With a soft shushing, the hovercraft lifts into the air and over the heads of District 12's citizens.

"How do you know this?" I hope the driver can't hear me over the soft roar of the engine, but if he does, so be it. I have to ask.

My mentor shakes his head, eyes trained on the ramshackle houses flashing by on the ground.

"Haymitch," I whisper harshly, and I grip his arm tight enough to leave bruises.

He closes his eyes, obviously unwilling to say more in the presence of an outsider. And yet – "I received a message via my microport about twenty minutes before you boarded the train. Snow didn't give a reason, Katniss. He's the President, he doesn't have to explain himself."

My heart twisting, I slump back into the leather seat. "He's messing with me," I say heatedly, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides.

"He's messing with all of us," Haymitch declares grimly.

We don't speak for the rest of the four-minute ride, both of us afraid of what our words and actions may reveal to anyone who might be watching too closely.