Chapter 12: Dead Girl Walking

"Holy Hell…. Look at that scar on the X-ray! That was quite a fracture – a little more and it would have shattered her spine. How the fuck did she even manage to get back up?" Brutus….

"Because her ally was getting used by her rogue district partner. And because she's a stubborn little bitch." The other voice is just as deep, richer somehow, but I have no idea who it might belong to. "Wait…. is she? Oh, shit, she's waking up…."

I stir, my blue eyes blinking as they take in the white, clinical room around me. As my vision begins to focus, I turn my head to behold the man sitting vigil in the chair right beside my bed. He looks like he has a military crew cut. Wait…. no…. he's bald….

"Brutus…..?" My voice is nothing but a raspy croak.

My mentor and the Victor of the 48th Hunger Games just smirks. "Morning, little darling."

I don't even give a damn about the stupid nickname anymore. In fact, it's as if the proposition in the conference room a lifetime ago never happened. That's how warmly I attempt to launch myself into his burly arms. "Oh, Brutus!"

"Whoa, careful now!" A warm hand, dark in complexion, holds me back. "You're hooked up to IVs. Lunge any farther, and you'll fall right out of bed!"

I turn to the dark-skinned man seated at my other side, and immediately recognize him. Even without taking a quick glance down and noting the stump where his right hand used to be: it's Chaff, the Victor of the 45th Hunger Games, who now grants me a winning smile. He throws out a hand. "Chaff Habarti, at your service."

I gulp, my throat dry, being in the presence of demigods, and blindly reach out to shake. On second thought, I probably should have done a double-take about that hand: my own palm brushes empty air, and I squeak, only now finally glancing down at his stump.

Chaff just leans back and belly laughs before flinging out the one hand he does still have. "Gets them every time." We shake.

"Maysilee Donner," I introduce myself.

Chaff graces me with a tip of his wool cap, and I note how his 'I's are pronounced almost like 'Ay's. "I'm delighted, Miss Donner."

I gape at him, a stunned and beaming grin forcing its way across my face. "You are?"

He just chuckles again, backslapping me. "Honey, you're a Victor now. Welcome to the family." Still hardly daring to believe it, I glance to Brutus, who just nods.

I don't remember anything after hearing the trumpets and Templesmith announcing my Victory. The last thing I sensed was the wind picking up as the hovercraft came to take me, Haymitch, Beech and Opal away.

Something catches in my throat, and my vocal cords fight to dislodge the gasp as it all comes rushing back. My eyes swim, shimmering like glass.

Brutus bestows me with the most sympathetic look I've ever seen from him before lifting himself out of his seat long enough to string a triumvirate of medals around my neck. "How's this for a royal flush?"

I finger each medal one at a time: my gold one. Silver, for Haymitch. Bronze, for Beech.

Haymitch…. Beech….

It is only now that I begin to weep quietly. I'm going home. I'm actually going home to see Danny and Belle and Merle and Kaydilyn. Kaydilyn – my sweet, impossible sister…. But what else will I find when I get there?

"Will…. will the Abernathys and the Berryhills be angry at me?" I whimper, lip pouting so that I look like a small child.

"If they're smart? No," Brutus declares as close to emphatically as he can. "Because technically, you didn't kill either of them – you just outlasted them. No credit for the kill, they didn't die at your hands. Beech killed Haymitch and Haymitch killed Beech. They canceled each other out." He's almost over-explaining things to me, but I'm still hanging onto every word he says. "They might resent you for coming home in place of their loved one, but those feelings are on them, not you. Blaming you outright would be an entirely different story. Besides, it's going to be your job to deliver those medals to the families. It's quite a historic feat, actually."

"I'll say!" Chaff hoots. "First-time ever tributes all from the same district have placed!"

"And that's even without the Victor's Crown you'll be getting at your final interview with Caesar later."

The hospital door bangs open quite suddenly and a lady with flecks of gray settling in her dark hair storms into the room.

"All right, I've waited long enough. You boys have had your fun. Clear out – I want to meet my successor."

Brutus looks affronted. "Fuck off, Shutter – I'm her mentor!"

"You're also about as cute as when Woof tries to flirt with me and fails spectacularly," Cora Shutter gives a sarcastic little laugh. "OUT!" Grumbling, the two men leave, Brutus giving my hand a squeeze as he departs.

Once Chaff and Brutus are gone, Cora Shutter, Victor of the 1st Quarter Quell, graces me with a warm smile and takes the seat Chaff occupied. I feel her working around the IV in my right hand as she laces her fingers through mine. She almost feels like a grandmother, or a favorite aunt, come to pay a call.

"First of all…. Congratulations. I'm an Anybody But a Career myself, so I wanted to thank you on behalf of that one boy of yours for taking the Opal chick out. And also, I'm quite pleased the Victor turned out to be you – female power, amirite? Them boys will have to wait another quarter century to have another crack." She giggles gleefully, and I weakly smile back, mumbling a You're Welcome.

Cora shakes her head, marveling. "9 days in the arena. My Quell lasted for close to three whole weeks before I got out. And frankly, hon, you came out looking better than I did – they had to sew up my gut after my own district partner stuck me with a dirk." She pauses, glancing down at our enjoined hands, so she doesn't catch my wince. "I also wanted to thank you," she murmurs, tone soft. "You and that boy of yours for finding my tribute, Bolt."

I gape, remembering the skeleton Haymitch and I found in the woods. It's not like we did, could have done, anything for him, but… "You're welcome."

She nods tightly, and we both allow a few moments of silence to reign. At last, Cora pats my hand.

"The nurses say you'll be released tomorrow morning, and then you'll be prepped for Caesar." She rises to leave, and I just stare at her as she walks for the door.

"Ms. Shutter!"

She turns back to me, rolling her eyes. "If I had a sesterce for every time I've heard that one – keep that up, dear, and you'll be as bad as my girls back home: call me Cora."

I gulp and guiltily nod. I don't even know where I find the juevos to ask it, but I do. "Back home, I have a friend… his mother had a pal who went into your Games. Did… did you kill her? The girl from 12?"

Cora closes her eyes tightly, and I immediately regret asking the question: even though I can't see what's in her irises right now, I know she is reliving her own time in hell.

Finally, after what seems like forever, she speaks: "No."

I know in an instant that I believe her. "Thank you," I murmur meekly.

The moment I am fit enough to be released from the hospital, I am swarmed.

Antonia and the rest of my prep team sweep me away to be cleansed and beautified. My Head Stylist is weeping with grateful relief over how such beauty (for a district woman) has been spared, and every single Capitol boy will want to marry me once she's done with me. Though I won't be wearing it for the final interview, someone manages to recover my beige Reaping dress for me to wear home. I summon an attendant and ask after the ultimate fate of poor little Gilla Callan. He disappears out into the crowd pressing in on the Remake Center, scores of admirers and the media waiting to catch a glimpse of the latest Victor. The Center is sealed off like a fortress: no one gets in or out without the proper identification. Word trickles in that Brutus has been fielding calls at an almost breakneck pace. The attendant I sent on that little fact-finding errand barely makes it back into the Remake Center, needing to plea with the Peacekeepers that he was sent on an urgent mission by Maysilee Donner. It is only after the Peacekeepers buzz him into my room via telecom for my confirmation that he is allowed to pass. The attendant brings word that Gilla did indeed perish in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Interestingly, however, she was not the very first tribute to die (though I had always inherently known that the small Career I killed took that distinction); she finished 40th out of all 48 tributes. I ask if there is anything of hers I can bring back to her family: her district token (ashamedly, I cannot even remember what it was), a participation ribbon. After all, my other district partners and I all earned medals. No, the attendant replies. I pay him in sesterces and a peck on the cheek for his trouble.

Not twelve hours later, I am being given finishing touches in the basement of the Capitol Recital Hall. The key players in the District 12 team are brought up via trapdoor to the stage, and met with wild cheers: first Antonia. Then Dolly, my escort. Then Brutus. When I at last arrive, the roar that meets my ears nearly causes my eardrums to bleed.

Caesar is clothed in a loud purple from forehead to ankle, the shade seeping right into his skin even. He tells the audience the color tone is something called Advent. "Before we begin, Miss Donner, we have a surprise for you."

I assume it's the Victor's Crown, until I recall that the Victor doesn't receive the Crown until the end of the night. I am thrilled beyond words when my old trainer and friend, Proximo, is trotted out; he presents me with the naginata I used in the arena, as well as the blowpipe, with a sweeping bow. I would just as soon wish to never lay eyes on those weapons again, but since the gesture is coming from my dear friend, I accept them gushingly. It's not as though I have a choice. I'll probably mount them on my wall back home.

Then I am placed on the Victor's Throne to begin watching a three-hour condensed version of the nine days I spent in the arena. "Much more ended up on the cutting room floor than usual, folks; the original version was given an unprecedented X-rating!" Caesar giggles, sending an almost 'You Naughty, Naughty Girl!' smile in my direction. I understand immediately: nothing will be shown of Haymitch and I making love after killing the one girl from District 9. I sit back and attempt to lose myself in the show.

Absent the passionate loss of my virginity, everything is shown, from Reaping to cradling Haymitch in my arms as he slipped away. When the lights come up, tears of anguish are streaming down my cheeks. President Snow appears onstage to wild cheers, placing the Victor's Crown on my head. The pungent odor of dying roses floods my nostrils, and when Snow smiles at me, my heart stills at the predatory quality I find there.

"Miss Donner…. Congratulations. I and the Capitol so look forward to getting to know you further."

I am too repulsed to speak, and just hope I am maintaining an admirably passive face while I receive his goodwill.

Just like that, it is time for me to go home. Brutus sees Dolly and I off at the train station the next morning. "You sure you don't want me to come with you?" he asks. "I know our mentor-tribute relationship is a little unusual. And I hate to think you'll be in that Village all alone."

I smile softly, touched that he cares. "I'll be fine, Brutus…. Thank you." Wordlessly, I kiss his cheek. All is forgiven for anything strained that passed between us, especially the proposition.

He smiles: a real one. I wish Brutus would smile more; he looks much more like himself when he does. He squeezes my hand. "You need anything, you get in contact with me – day or night. Understand? Dolly will show you how to use the phone if necessary. Acclimation to a Victor's lifestyle can be a little… jarring, even for those of us who grew up relatively more well off."

I wish him goodbye, and board the train with Dolly, the train speeding us slightly southeastward and home to District 12. It takes us a full day and the better part of a second to get there. Even before we round the bend, I can hear the clamoring and cheering of my people and neighbors. Folks are standing on rooftops, straining to catch a glimpse of their first Victor in four decades.

As soon as the hydraulic doors hiss open, hands seize me and pull me into the crowd. The first people I encounter are my dear friends.

Danny Mellark picks me up and swirls me around as if I weigh nothing, while I shriek in surprise and delight. "I knew you could do it! I just knew you could! Oh, Maysilee… Thank the State you came home."

I throw back my head and laugh musically. "Oh, Danny…" Throwing my arms around his neck, we kiss cheeks lightly. I lean in closer to whisper in his ear. "And you can kiss me anytime you like. There really is good luck on those lips…." He belly-laughs with mirth, remembering the kisses we shared before and after my Reaping.

"She's been kissing a lot of people lately, hasn't she?" Kaydilyn sidles up to me, beaming, though the joy doesn't quite reach her eyes and her smile is too tight. With a cry, I launch myself into my sister's arms, clasping her hands. I frown when something bumpy on her right hand brushes against my palm, and I draw back, holding her manicured fingers to the light. I gasp.

"Kaydilyn Margaret Donner…. there's a very important ring on a very important finger."

Her smile is breathtaking, and genuine this time, and after a moment of silence we shriek and embrace, dancing around in a circle. Merle Undersee reaches me at last, and I hug my future brother-in-law tightly. "Oh, my stars, I'm so happy for you! When's the Toasting?"

"No definite date set yet."

"And probably not for a while," Kaydilyn says. "At least until your hoopla dies down. Of course, the idiot chose when the Berryhill kid killed the Career and not when you were announced Victor to get down on one knee!"

Merle appears sheepish, though his chest is still thrown out with pride. "I was caught up in the moment." I laugh and hug him.

And then comes the face I most wanted to see: Belle Foley approaches, smile soft, her eyes swimming with tears. My own orbs are glassy. Words fail us both; I can only let out a strangled sob before we embrace.

Glancing over her shoulder, I see a tall, dark young man with olive skin standing right behind my best friend. "And who is this?"

Belle draws back, introducing me to the stranger with a kind smile. "Maysilee, this is a new friend of ours, Glen Everdeen. Glen, my best friend and my sister, Maysilee Donner."

Glen steps forward and holds out a hand. "How do you do, Miss Donner?" His voice is a deeper bass than even Brutus's, but unlike Brutus, the tone is much more pleasing to the ear.

I can't help but stare. If falling in love with Haymitch taught me anything, it's that Seam boys can be incredibly attractive. Glen Everdeen is quite striking – though his jawline is not as chiseled as Haymitch's was, the symmetry in his face is quite remarkable. Coal-ash gray eyes, as all Seamers tend to have. Chestnut bangs that hang down into his piercing stare. There is something intensely solemn about the man that is frankly… magnetic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my best friend also studying Glen in a way that I can't quite interpret. "When you and Haymitch allied," she explains to me in a breathless rush. "Many of the Seamers were deeply upset. They weren't sure Haymitch should trust you at first. But then Glen crossed over to our side of the Square as we were watching and expressed support for your alliance. He was one of the few Seamers to do so." She turns back to the Seam boy, eyes shining with respect. "It was really brave."

I nod to him deferentially. "Well… thank you. I appreciate it."

"Of course, Miss Donner."

"Oh, Maysilee, please."

Smiling a broad grin filled with sparkling teeth, Glen shakes his head. "Obliged, ma'am, but I must decline. We have a certain way of addressing Victors round these here parts, whether one of our own, or just passing through. My Grandmammy knew Lucy Gray Baird, they were cousins, and though she didn't stay for long after coming home from the arena, everyone who knew her called her Miss Baird."

I can't help but smile back. Glen is quite charming. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Glen," I express sincerely, spying two more of my loved ones approaching over his shoulder. "Excuse me."

And then I am launching myself with an emotional cry into my parents' arms. "Mama! Daddy!"

Mama clings to me tight and breaks down completely, her smile tired but so incredibly grateful and relieved. Daddy is also grinning, but like before with Kaydilyn, there is something strained about it. And in his eyes, usually so warm and kind, I detect the opposite of the pride I expected to find that his eldest daughter (by one minute) managed to come home alive from a field worth two arenas. Instead, I see a flash of…. disappointment?

My gut clenches, but I decide to dismiss my uneasiness: whatever it is, Daddy and I will talk about it. If he is upset with me that I had to kill people to come home to him… I will try to explain it to him as best I can. Although I'm still having a devil of a time trying to rationalize it to myself.

Beyond my parents, some Peacekeepers are pushing two small families forward. I recognize them immediately: the Berryhills – his mother and father and four younger brothers; and the Callans – mourning their only child.

I approach the Berryhills first, and remember where I've seen the patriarch before: Lloyd Berryhill is the district woodcutter. He's provided firewood many a winter to Merchant businesses, including my family's candy shop. Lloyd is staring me down like I am the devil incarnate, and I will myself to be brave as I present to him the bronze medal on behalf of his eldest son.

"Beech was very brave." That's all I can think to say.

Lloyd snatches the medal from my hands without a word, and I cannot help but cringe. Maybe it would have been better to just wait until my Victory Tour to meet with them. Even though I didn't kill Beech, I still rushed him with the intent to kill, in self-defense. I quickly move on to Mr. and Mrs. Callan, and an even bigger lump forms in my throat. But Mrs. Callan just grants me the warmest smile that I don't deserve – I broke a promise to her daughter! – and wraps me in a hug.

"I know you were kind to my girl in her last days. I forgive you. Go in peace." It takes all I have not to break down right then and there.

That's when it dawns on me: I should be meeting and grieving with three families, not just two. Scanning the crowd of faces, I finally spy one wearing a Peacekeeper's helmet and flag him down.

"Excuse me, Officer, but where are the Abernathys?"

The Peacekeeper nods to me deferentially. "Mrs. Abernathy was judged to be in too frail an emotional state to attend the festivities." If I were paying better attention, I would see that something about this explanation doesn't smell right. But I press on obliviously.

"I have an urgent delivery for Mrs. Abernathy that I must take to her directly. Could you point me towards her house?"

The Peacekeeper worries his bottom lip, eyes shifting, before he finally sighs. "Very well. I'll send a courier ahead to collect the Abernathys' address from the Justice Building, if you'll just wait here for a few more minutes. Enjoy your public."

I nod to him gratefully. "Much obliged, Officer."

I glance down at the tiny slip of paper in my hand, then back up at the dilapidated, farmhouse-style structure before me. The "Abernathy estate," as the courier referred to it upon making the delivery to me at the train station, is overgrown with weeds about as tall as the meadow grasses in which Haymitch and I started the Games. The entire left side of the wrap-around front porch has partially caved in, though thankfully, this doesn't impede me lifting up my skirts as I mount the steps.

I'm in your yard, I'm a dead girl walking…

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I raise my fist to the splintered wood of the front door (halfway off its hinges) and knock. After a moment, a woman with lines already set into her face opens the door a crack. When she registers who it is, she flings the door open the rest of the way so violently that I fear the last of its hinges will tear away. The woman stares at me in open-mouthed shock, her Seam-grey eyes quickly cooling into some terrifying land between indifference and resentment.

Maybe the Officer was right…. She doesn't look to be in an emotional state to receive anyone… I gulp, even as I gaze at her.

Haymitch told me once that he inherited his mother's looks and his daddy's mouth. I had no idea how right he was. Looking at Rhona Abernathy (that's her name on the paper) is like looking at her eldest son in a dress.

"Mrs. Abernathy…. Um…. My name is Maysilee Donner, and…"

"I know who you are, girl," she cuts me off coolly. I feel myself start to sweat. This was a really, really bad idea. Lloyd Berryhill was practically a teddy bear compared to this. So it is to my immense surprise that the Abernathy matriarch stands aside. "Would you like to come in?"

Swallowing hard again, I nod and step past her into the house. The place is falling down just as much on the inside as it is on the outside. An armoire with a gaping hole in the second drawer from the top is pushed against the far left wall. A meager stove is opposite this. A table with three normal legs and an un-sanded plank of wood just long enough to serve as a fourth is in the center. Rhona Abernathy rounds to the stove, her back to me, and begins busying herself with a kettle of tea.

Fanning out my Reaping skirts, I lower myself into a chair, taking the scene in. So this is where my first love grew up… In all the admittedly brief time that I knew him, Haymitch never once mentioned to me that he was this poor. Not that all Seamers aren't poor, but I should have foreseen that even within the lower class, there would be those better and worse off.

Two picture frames are propped on the armoire behind me. The one to the right catches my eye. It is a picture of Haymitch and a smaller boy who I just know is his little brother, Lacklen. The picture has to have been recent, for there is the cocksure smirk I fell in love with.

And I know, I know it's cause you're beautiful. You say you're numb inside, but I can't agree…

There is a rustling as Rhona heaves herself into the chair directly opposite me. Her hands are gnarled, steepled, and arthritic as they clutch at her teacup. She is struggling to carefully lift the kettle of tea to pass it to me, and I reach across to take it and help her. I pour myself a cup, the scent warm and wafting as it reaches my nostrils. I catch a hint of mint leaves.

"Sugar?" Rhona rasps out.

I smile politely. "Thanks," I murmur, voice soft.

"No cream, I'm afraid." This is followed by a hacking cough, so debilitating that I wince. I wasn't aware that Haymitch's mother was so sick… Recovering at last, she clears her throat.

"Haymitch aimed to win so that the Victor's purse could go towards the finer drugs at the Apothecary shop. I understand your best friend is his only daughter?"

I nod, my azure eyes rapidly becoming pained. Oh, Haymitch…. why didn't you tell me any of this? Tears slip down my cheeks.

"I'm sorry," I gasp out. "If I had known that was his plan, I… I would have gladly laid down my life so he could come home…"

"Don't lie to me, girl child," Rhona snaps, which only makes me cry harder. I clutch at her one free hand – so impossibly cold – and she flinches, but doesn't pull away.

"It's true!" And I feel such hatred for Beech. Hatred for myself… if I had moved faster, I might have been able to take out Beech before he got to Haymitch, then found some way to sacrifice myself. I hastily remove Haymitch's silver medal from around my neck and nudge it across the table towards his mother. She glares at it, but doesn't pick it up. I lean forward over the tabletop. "Even though you might not believe me, even though things didn't work out between us, I loved your son very much." My voice is an emotional whisper.

Rhona just stares at me for several seconds, seemingly at a loss for words. I don't know what she thinks she knows about Merchant folk. I imagine she believes all the horrible things that my neighbors believe of people like them – people like the Abernathys and the Callans and the Berryhills.

I'm still weeping quietly… until the mother of the man I loved reaches out an aged hand and strokes it along my face.

"I believe you," she gets out at last, apparently shocked at her own words. She lets out something that sounds like a chuckle. "My baby boy was a lucky man, then – winning the heart of a pretty little thing like you."

I smile at her wetly.

Just then, the door leading from the porch bangs open, and I swivel my head to take in Lacklen Abernathy striding inside. He looks to be about 13, just as I suspected, and has a comforting arm slung over the shoulders of a stick-thin girl with wiry black hair.

"Hey, Mama, we're back…" Lacklen's voice trails off mid-sentence, mouth still open to form words, but it now just stays there, unhinged in such a manner that the muscles in his jaw must be screaming in protest.

Then the girl raises her eyes to mine, and we both freeze. Played back in a sickeningly sped-up pace, I can now see Haymitch kissing me, touching my waist, my bum, my breasts…. Thrusting deep inside me as he made love to me in the forest grasses…. Only for the image to then be cast aside by another memory of mine, of gazing after my crush as he left the schoolyard, his arm slung casually over –

This girl…. Indigo… No…

"Digger," I breathe out.

Digger's one eye twitches like she has some kind of facial tic. Then, with a growl of pure rage and grief, she tries to launch herself at me. Hers is the picture of a young woman who's lost her love and is lost in love, just as I am, and for a second, I think Lacklen is going to let her come at me. Rhona's youngest son rouses himself in the nick of time and holds Digger back, who is now thrashing in his vice-like embrace, snarling like a wild dog, nails clawing the air and no doubt wishing that it was my face instead.

"You bitch! How dare you show your face here after you slept with my husband!"

My heart nearly stops. Wait a second… husband?... Oh…. Oh, gods, what have I done? And with the picture of just what I did rapidly coming into focus, I feel thoroughly repulsed by myself.

"How?... When?..." I'm spluttering like a fish, backing up out of my chair even though Lacklen seems strong enough to hold her.

"Calm down, now!" Lacklen admonishes, tightening his grip on his… sister-in-law.

"We had our Toasting in the Justice Building! When we said goodbye! And you seduced him into breaking that vow!" Digger is spitting with rage.

As I recall, it takes two to tango, and in the heat of the moment, neither Haymitch nor I could really be credited with making the first move. Well, actually, I could – I was the one who initiated the kiss….

Wracked with guilt, the tears now streaming down my cheeks, I whimper while addressing Lacklen, "I'm so sorry for your loss. I…. I just came to deliver your brother's medal." I turn frantically to Rhona Abernathy. "Thank you…. for… for having me." And dancing around Lacklen and a still-screeching Digger, I flee off the property in tears, my ears ringing with Digger's wails, Lacklen's yelling and Rhona's admonishments.

"Indigo, stop it! Stop it, Panem damn it!"

I don't stop until I make it home.

A/N: Song Credit: Dead Girl Walking from Heathers.