PART TWO: The Sea Glass Games

The Train - Voices

I know I'm in trouble when I'm in the hospital lobby waiting for Annie to finish her session with Dr. Greenswilsh and my personal limousine driver hands me a card. Then he walks away, silently. It occurs to me that he doesn't say much.

The card is made of thick, expensive paper the color of cream. There is an elegantly thin border of black around it. In one corner, there is a scrawling sketch of a thorny rose in scarlet ink. The President's trademark symbol.

Written on the card in Snow's small, neat handwriting is one word: Consequences.

A warning. I'm testing my boundaries. Sleeping in Annie's room made a blip on the Capitol's radar; it is gossip-worthy material.

I sigh and tuck the card into my pocket.

Annie emerges from Dr. Greenswilsh's office and shuffles over to me in a sweeping gray skirt and black top that her stylist picked out for her. The last outfit her stylist will pick out for her, unless she decides that she wants to do the Victory Tour. Which I don't think she will.

"He said I'm okay to be released," she murmurs.

I clap my hands together. "Great. Let's get out of here then. Mags is waiting for us at the train station."

We can walk to the train station from here, but we take a car anyway. By the time we get there the crowds are waiting for us, waving and hollering. I don't know who told them that we were leaving for District Four today, and that fact bothers me. But I wave and wink and smile just like I would any other time in front of the cameras. As for Annie, she looks a little green.

I don't get to see Annie or Mags very much once we board the train. Ophelia occupies much of my time, organizing Annie's return into District Four. "I won't be there to make sure everything runs smoothly," she says stiffly, a little indignantly. "So that's going to be your job, Finnick. Listen up."

I never realized how much preparation went into a homecoming.

"That's all the basics," Ophelia says after about two hours of instruction. "But there is one more thing you need to handle. Something quite important, I'd say, in this case."

"What?"

Ophelia looks serious. "I just got a fax. When we get to District Four, Quincy's remains will be there. There will be a funeral. It will not be televised, but the victor and mentors are expected be present, as I'm sure you very well know. Not that I think attendance will be a problem, but..."

"You're saying I need to give her a heads up," I finish.

"Well, I'm just warning you. There's no telling how Annie might react when you do." Ophelia squirms, her magenta braids rippling over her shoulders. She is very uneasy talking about Annie's...what did the President call it? Ah, right; Annie's condition.

"I don't know, Ophelia," I snap. "How would you react if your brother was decapitated right in front of you?"

Her response is: "I don't have a brother."

That's when I leave.

We're all called down to dinner a little later. None of us are really talking; I think Ophelia is still stung from my abrupt exit earlier, and I'm still irritated with her. Annie and Mags...well, neither of them have really ever been talkers.

I clear my throat after an extensive pause and push my plate away. Mags and Annie look up at me curiously. Ophelia turns her head. "We just got a message from District Four. It seems Quincy's remains have just arrived. They're going to have the funeral when we get back. Traditional District Four style."

The table gets deadly quiet. Annie looks down at her plate. She opens her mouth to speak, looks like she might throw up, then tries again. "Can we have it on our boat?"

Her hands are shaking. "We'll have to ask your father, but I'm sure that's fine," I say to her gently. Now her whole body is shaking. Mags puts a hand on her shoulder.

Annie excuses herself and leaves the room. None of us go after her.

I look at Ophelia. "Unpredictable enough for you?"

"I'm sorry," Ophelia says, looking down at her plate. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to," I say, standing up. Somehow, I know she won't apologize to Annie. And that makes the apology more worthless than if she had never uttered it in the first place.

Sleep doesn't come easily to me that night. It hardly ever does. As I stare up at the ceiling, I wonder if all victors have insomnia. I wonder...

Just when I'm dozing off, I hear a shrill scream from somewhere in the car. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, chasing away any sleep that had settled. I'm racing through the car. I know where the screaming is coming from.

I can't get the door open when I get to her room. Is it locked? I can't tell. I let go of the knob and prepare to ram it open, but is swings in and Annie is standing there much in the same state as she was in the hospital. She runs right into my arms. Idly I wonder how often this is going to happen.

"Annie? What's wrong?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. I flick on the lights and check just to make sure. There's nothing amiss.

"Nightmares."

I close the door behind me before nosy people can come flooding in. In my mind, I hear rather than see the word printed on the card in the pocket of my pants laying beside my bed: Consequences. But one look at Annie and I know I can't leave her in this room by herself tonight. "I'll stay with you again."

"Finnick, it wasn't a nightmare."

I think again of how realistic my dreams can get. "Yes, it was. Whatever you saw - "

"It's not what I saw!" Annie explodes, tears spilling from her eyes and dripping from her chin. "It's what I heard! I think...I'm hearing voices."

I can only stare at her, stupefied. Voices? It seems too...cliche. It fits the definition of "crazy" too perfectly. The Hunger Games can make people crazy, but not this kind of crazy. Besides, aren't people who hear voices usually unaware of the fact?

Something's not right here.

"What kind of voices?"

"The kind that no one hears, or has ever heard. That's what spooked me at the hospital too. I didn't want to tell you because..." she trails off and laughs a little. "Well, I'm hearing voices. I'm really crazy now."

"Did they bother you when I was there?"

Annie shakes her head. "No."

"Come here then." I open my arms, and Annie runs into my embrace. This time, not in a state of hysteria. She snuggles close to me like a child, so soft, so warm. Her head fits under my chin perfectly. How did I not notice this before?

I brush a long lock of brown hair away from her ear. There are still some questions to be answered. "You said that the first time you heard the voices was last night?" Consequences.

"Yes..." she squirms. "Finnick, please stop. I don't want to talk about this."

Consequences. "Okay then," I say with a smirk. "We won't talk." I guide her backward until her knees are bumping up against the edge of the bed and she flops down on it, her feet brushing the floor. I tumble in after her, putting my hands on either side of her face, keeping an arms' length away.

"What are you doing?" Annie asks flatly, arching one delicate eyebrow. Her long brown waves are splayed all across the sheets in chaotic tangles. Her eyes are chaotic too, deep green with flecks of brown and copper and, just in the corner of her right eye, sapphire blue. These are imperfect eyes I could get lost in.

"Not talking," I reply, pressing my lips against the tender skin of her throat. She takes in a breath. I can feel her heartbeat, her pulse. I can hear mine thundering in my ears, partially out of exhilaration and partially out of fear.

"Taking advantage of a woman in her time of weakness," Annie remarks dryly. "I really thought better of you, Odair."

The President's words echo through my head. You didn't seem like the type to take advantage of a disabled woman. I suppose I was wrong. I hesitate. What if Annie doesn't want this after everything I told her? I try to make a joke out of it by making some sarcastic remark about my "romantic thunder," but I think Annie understands my confliction.

"What happened to not talking?"

Grinning, she pulls me down and kisses me, just kisses me, and for once I don't think about the consequences.

Annie snores.

Gently, softly, through her nose. She sleeps deeply, like someone who hasn't slept in days. Which she probably hasn't. Not with the nightmares she gets. Not with the voices she hears.

Voices. Ha.

I know Annie won't wake up as I carefully untangle myself from her long limbs. She's knocked out. A little bubble of content spreads in my chest as a watch her for a second. The fact that she sleeps so well in my arms makes me feel good. Needed.

There's something else that Annie needs from me, though, something much more important. I tiptoe over to her side and brush back the hair from her ear, peer inside her ear canal. Nothing. Other ear, nothing. No devices that might be triggering the voices.

No, that would be too obvious. Annie would notice that too soon. It must be something environmental. I begin methodically looking under the mattresses and pillows and sheets, anywhere I can think of. Under the bed. All in the carpet. In the drawers. Everywhere.

I find the first one under the dresser. It's small and black, with little holes on the surface like a microphone. There's no on/off switch; it might be wireless. A speaker. A bug.

Just what I thought. Annie's voices aren't real. It must be the President's idea of a sick joke. What, did he think that the voices would really make me believe that she's crazy? Or perhaps the objective was to actually drive Annie insane. Whatever the reason, it's twisted.

I'm sure this isn't the only one. Nothing this small could generate enough noise to incite that kind of reaction in Annie. Slowly I begin to look for more while Annie snores away.

So this chapter seems a little bit out there from Finnick's POV, but if you were to read Sea Glass and see it from Annie's perspective it would make a lot more sense.

Only a few chapters left for Part Two!