Chapter Thirty-Two: Out with a Bang

"Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is." —John Milton

"What did you do to her? Where's my…" I begin to ask in a panic, but I don't get to finish before I'm interrupted by another sharp jab in the chest from Snow's rifle. I feel as if I could float right off the ground from all the adrenaline coursing through my body, and against the risk of being shot I find myself calling out, "Mom? Mom!"

I know she won't answer back, though.

"Shut up!" Snow bellows. "She ain't here and she wouldn't give a shit even if she was!"

It's a harsh truth, but he's right, and I know it's pointless to ask where she is. Whether she's still alive or long dead, he won't tell me and I'm afraid I already know the answer anyway. After all, there's no other reason I can think of that would cause Snow to take my mom into the woods and leave her there, no other reason I can think of as to why he wants to lead me to her in the middle of the night.

This is how it ends.

As I stand here, feeling my heart beating rapidly and my breath quickening, I know the time is drawing near. I've expected this moment for so long, knew it was coming, thought I'd made peace with the possibility, and yet… I'm not ready for it. I don't want to die. Not now, not when I'm only just beginning to live.

I take a few tentative steps back towards the door and close my eyes to blind myself from Snow's cold gaze, but all I see when I shut them are the harrowing images from my nightmares; of what he might have already done and what he's about to do.

"Out!" he demands, and with a slight jump I quickly turn to walk outside. He suddenly shoves me forward, causing me to trip on the unstable brick steps and sprawl flat onto the ground. My breath is knocked out of me for a few seconds, and my knees and the palms of my hands are scraped, but I don't have time to dwell on the pain. I stand up again, feeling apathetic of any chance of survival as the rifle makes its presence known against the bottom of my back.

"Where's your sister?"

"She's… she's staying with a friend overnight," I say as loudly and evenly as I can, hoping Prim will hear me and take my words as a warning. My eyes dart around, squinting, trying their best to focus in on the inky darkness that looms at the end of the trailer. I don't see her anywhere, which is equally a relief as it is a worry. I find myself silently wishing, praying, hoping that she stays hidden and doesn't put herself in harm's way with some pointless attempt to try to save me.

There's a sudden painful tug on my braid as I'm forcefully turned around.

"Funny. I don't remember getting asked permission. Where is this friend? What's their name?" Snow lowers his rifle and brings his face within inches of my own. His skin is yellowed and multiple scabs cover his hollow cheeks and trail down his neck. He didn't look like this at all when my mother first met him; in fact, he was actually handsome back then.

But as the years went on, his drug habit got worse and escalated to heavier stuff, and with that eventually brought the ugliness on the outside to match the inside. I notice a couple scratch marks than seem fresh on his jaw, and I can't help but wonder if they were caused by my mother - if she had found some fight left in her and struggled against him. I don't like entertaining the idea, so I avert my gaze from the marks and look up at his eyes. They are pure evil. I don't see any fragment of a loving human being when I look into them; in fact, I'm reminded of a snake coiling up and getting ready to strike at any moment.

As if reading my thoughts, he twists my braid around his hand a little more until his knuckles are digging into the back of my head. "Any good parent should know these things, right?"

I nod hesitantly, giving a small shrug of one of my shoulders, but I don't say a word. I don't trust myself to speak at the moment; I know that anything I say will only drag out my death that much longer or make it worse for my mom or Prim. If any of us have to leave this world tonight, I want it to be done as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

"What? I can't hear your fucking head rattle!"

I can feel the pull of my scalp separating from my skull—it's excruciating and I feel like screaming, but instead I bite my lip as hard as I can, tasting blood as I attempt to level out the pain.

"Yes sir," I answer monotonously, trying to keep my face void of emotion. A tear slips from my eye before I can stop it, however, and I feel stupid for openly displaying my weakness and fear for him to toy with.

"You saying I'm a bad parent?" he counters mockingly, wiping my tear away with his thumb with one hand while continuing to tighten his grip on my braid with the other. He's obviously never been and never will be a good parent, but I still shake my head. Surprisingly, he releases my hair and heaves a deep breath, blowing putrid air into my face before saying in such an icy tone that it causes me to shiver, "Mellark seemed to think so."

My heart immediately drops into my stomach.

When Peeta's dad left the bakery tonight, he must have come here; I only hope he left.

In an instant, all sorts of horrible scenarios run through my head of what might have gone on. Snow can put on a pretty good act of being a good guy in public or around the right people, but… Mr. Mellark came here alone, on Snow's turf, uninvited. Anything could have happened.

I finally find my voice long enough to squeak out, "What?"

He doesn't answer, only places his hand under my chin, squeezing the lower half of my face between his fingers. I ball my hands tightly at my sides, trying not to yank him away as his fingernails dig into my skin.

"Now why would he come here to question my parenting skills?" Snow muses rhetorically, arching an eyebrow at me in accusation. "Unless someone was a fucking snitch?"

"I… I don't know," I answer quickly, feeling like a trapped animal. I swallow loudly and fix my eyes nervously on the ground. "He saw the bruises, but I told him I ran into a limb. I swear that's all I said. I don't know why he—"

I'm stopped short when his fist makes contact with the side of my head. I'm disoriented for a moment as I try to refocus my eyes and wait for the throbbing ache in my head to ebb away. I hear the tone of his voice, but I can't make out the words. I close my eyelids and squeeze them tightly in an attempt to stop everything from spinning, but my legs buckle beneath me and I fall to the ground.

I flinch as I feel the cold muzzle of the rifle touch the middle of my forehead.

"I'm gonna ask one more time and if I find out you're bullshitting me, I promise you I'll shoot the bitch on sight. Where's your sister?"

"With a friend from school. A new friend. I forgot the name," I answer. There's no chance in hell that I'm going to tell him where Prim really is. All I can hope for is that she's smart enough to have already started running to Gale's house. I don't want her to witness my death; I don't want that image to haunt her for the rest of her life.

"You know, this ain't no fucking BB gun. This'll blow a hole in you as big as my fist," Snow threatens, pushing the muzzle harder against my forehead. My father taught me how to use a rifle when I was younger, so I know for a fact that he's not lying. If he shoots me, I'll be as good as dead.

On the bright side, though, if he shoots in the right spot and punctures a vital internal organ, it'd be a quick and nearly painless death. On the other hand, I could also slowly bleed to death and that'd be painful beyond anything—and not just physically. Even now, regrets about what I could have said, what I could have done differently invade my mind. I can imagine it'd be ten times as worse with the last moments of your life literally evaporating from you.

"They won't find a body. Coin has those hogs eatin' bone and all. You'll be fertilizer."

"I'm telling the truth. I really don't know the name," I whisper in reply.

"No matter, I'll deal with her later. And believe me, I will," he growls. "Get the fuck up. Go. I got my finger on the trigger."

I stand without a word, both dizzy and desperate, knowing I have no other alternatives. Sure, I could run or scream, but I'd be shot immediately. And if Prim is watching, I don't want her to feel compelled to intervene.

With the rifle against the middle of my back once again, Snow forces me into the pitch-black void of the woods.

It's sort of comforting, at least, that the one place I've found solace and survival in for all these years will be the last place I visit and the last thing I see.

Minutes pass in heavy silence, but it seems like an eternity. Even the forest is eerily quiet, as if all the animals and insects have hidden at the sight of a monster entering their realm. The only thing I can hear is the autumn wind howling through the tall limbs of the trees; I close my eyes and imagine some sort of otherworldly being weeping and angered at witnessing such a depraved scene.

Maybe it's my mother's spirit, feeling as helpless as she did when she was alive, but finally in control of her mind, with a heart filled with regret at watching her oldest daughter being marched to her death.

I open my eyes again and look up at the sky—it's as dark and overcast as this situation. No stars are visible, even the moon is covered by a blanket of dark gray clouds, and I can barely see an arm's length of distance in front of me. With a startled cry, I step into a deep mud puddle and fall on my knees, catching myself from landing flat on my face. Snow lifts me up by my hair, muttering how useless I am in vulgar terms, and when I'm standing again—drenched, dirty, and trembling—he wraps my braid around my neck and yanks. I'd cough from the pressure, but I can't breathe at all; he chuckles at realizing he can strangle me with my own hair.

Surprisingly, he releases me, pushing me forward and bringing the rifle back against my spine.

I inhale a few big gulps of air, narrowing my eyes curiously as I finally see a break in the wall of trees in front of me. I know these woods like the back of my hand in the daytime, but at night they become unfamiliar; however, as we get closer and closer to the clearing, I know exactly where we are. Dread washes over every inch of my body and I feel like running away, but I have no other choice but to continue walking towards my sure demise.

"You fuckin' try to run and I won't hesitate to shoot!" Snow warns as we approach the rocky ledge that I've always feared and avoided.

When we first moved onto this property, he'd brought me here. He made me stand on the very edge and look down at the jagged rocks—which are at least a hundred feet below—as he told me that no one could survive the fall and no one would bother going down there to find a body. He said this under the pretense of caution at the time, but I soon grew to realize that it was really a threat. The abuse was only just beginning then, and I had no way of knowing how badly it would escalate.

My heart starts to race as I hear something in the distance—faint and barely more than a whisper, but it's clearly a voice. At first I thought it was merely the wind, but as I get closer, it becomes louder and more distinct. It takes all my willpower not to break down into tears when I realize who it is.

My mother.

She's humming a lullaby that I recognize she used to sing to me and Prim when we were younger; breathy and melancholy, it's both chilling and comforting. When I'm out of the woods and on the rocky ledge, I see her propped up against a boulder, her hands tied behind her back and her ankles tied together. She looks peaceful, though, staring up at the sky and smiling as if recalling some beautiful memory. Her light blond hair is in its usual tangle of clumps, but in the dark it seems to glow around her pale face like a halo. Her night gown, white and torn, causes her to contrast with the blackness around her.

"Mom!" I manage to choke out, and to my surprise, she looks straight at me and her smile falters. I have a strong urge to run to her and hold her in my arms, feeling overwhelmed by how relieved I am that she's still alive.

But I remain in place as Snow moves around me and points the rifle at her. "No! Please…" I beg, although I know it's pointless. If anything, he'll shoot her in spite of my protests. Still, I can't simply watch in silence as he murders her in front of me.

He turns back to me, his mouth turning up on one side in a sadistic half-smile.

"Oh, I'm not." Once again, he points the rifle at me and raises his eyebrows. "Move over here. Now."

I stand still, shivering and shaking my head. I know what he's going to have me do, but I refuse to do it. No matter how far gone my mother is, she's still the person who brought me into this world and I won't be the one who takes her out of it. I'd rather die myself; I wouldn't be able to live with the guilt anyway.

He walks over and drags me by the arm, twisting it and squeezing as tightly as he can, until I'm standing a couple feet from the edge of the cliff. I look behind me and close my eyes, tears falling down my face as my mom begins to hum again.

"Why?" I whisper, feeling tired and weak. I doubt he'll answer, and in fact it will only make things worse, but I can't help but ask, "Why are you doing this?"

I'm right; he doesn't answer. He only comes over and places the rifle into my trembling hands. For a moment, I feel a strong urge to shoot him. I would do it in a heartbeat, too. However, he takes a pistol from his inside jacket pocket and holds it to my temple.

Even if I want to shoot him, there isn't enough distance between us to do it. I could shoot his foot, but that would only make him shoot me and my mom dead in an instant. As desolate as I feel about this situation, hearing my mother's hum somehow gives me a slight glimmer of hope.

"She doesn't love you. She wouldn't bat a fucking eyelash if I shot you right now. She's a fucking brain-dead whore," he says. "Look, I'm a reasonable guy. Shoot her, I'll let you and your sister live. If you don't, you all die."

"Why?" I ask again, my throat dry and my cheeks wet.

"You know too much, got people coming to the house asking questions now. I should have done this a long time ago, ended everything before it could even start," Snow answers and gives a chilling, cynical chuckle. "Like this fucking sham of a marriage."

I shake my head, "My mom trusted you. She loved you. And look what you've done to her…"

I know I'm making things worse by confronting him, but I'm going to die anyway. It's true, though. She loved too much, she trusted too easily, and that was her biggest downfall.

"Really?" he laughs again and presses the gun harder against me. "So tell me, if your fucking saint of a mother loved and trusted me so much, why did she fuck another guy and say the baby was mine? I can't fucking have children! Then she tries to end everything? Fuck no. It'll end when I say it ends. She brought this entirely on herself."

I don't know what to say in reply. Of course I think he's delusional and paranoid, and the blood of my baby brother will inexcusably always be on his hands. I was young then and not completely aware of things going on with my mother, but I know she would never have had an affair. There wasn't anyone she could have had an affair with, and besides that, my father died only six months prior and she was pregnant before she married Snow. There wouldn't have been time for anyone else, and I never saw any other men come to our house besides Snow during that time.

"You're wrong," is all I whisper in reply. I gasp as he wraps my braid around his hand again.

"The decision is yours," he says icily, and I know our heart-to-heart is over. "Shoot her, be shot, or you can step back a few more inches."

I don't have a few more inches; the heels of my feet line up perfectly with the edge of the cliff.

I glance behind me at the foreboding rocks that lie below. All I'd have to do is close my eyes, relax my body, and let the gentle night breeze take care of the rest. It could all be over in an instant. I wouldn't hurt or worry anymore.

I'd finally know peace.

But what if the fall doesn't kill me? At the very least, I'd be too injured to walk away. I'd slowly, painfully starve and dehydrate to death, possibly for days.

I think of Prim. I'll never get to see her grow up. I'll never get to see if she'll ever marry or have children, or if she'll ever achieve her dream of becoming a nurse. I know she'll always wonder what really happened to me, and she'll blame herself for running off and leaving me, even though I'm proud of her for doing it. And what'll happen to her without me to protect her? What if Snow stays true to his word and actually does kill her?

I also think about Peeta—the sweet, generous boy who has taught me that having hope, even if it's fleeting, isn't completely pointless; that feeling good isn't a crime, and that you can love someone without rhyme, reason, or obligation. Under different circumstances, in another life, what could we have become? I could easily see spending the rest of my life with him; then again, I kind of did.

Snow takes the gun from my forehead and pretends to flick a piece of dust off the end of it, "Time's ticking."

I look over at my mother's skeletal body and point the rifle. She looks straight at me with wide, far away eyes, and I wonder if she has any idea what's going on. What is she seeing? What is she thinking? Does she even care at all? What's going through her mind as she hums the song she once sang so lovingly to her children?

And then I see it...

At first I thought it was just my imagination, but as it moves down her cheek, I know I'm not mistaken: it's a tear. She's crying. And with that, I know there's some part of her, somewhere deep down inside, that understands what's happening.

Despite her current condition, I'll never be able to forget how she was before she met Snow. She was the perfect wife and mother, and I have no doubt that she loved us with all her heart. I remember coming home from school to cookies and cakes, cuddling with her on the couch and watching my favorite shows, her singing me to sleep and reading me stories. Before my father died, it was a rare occasion that she'd ever be in a bad mood or greet anyone without a smile on her face. She used to be so genuinely happy.

But that person is basically a ghost now, a shell that's slowly been cracking at the edges and withering to dust as she breathes. I remind myself that she's been dead for a while now, at least mentally and spiritually, and if she dies tonight it'll only stop her suffering and prevent a future of pain.

She's better off dead, really.

I tell myself this, but I'll never be able to pull the trigger, so I close my eyes and begin to sing along with her hum. My voice cracks and is just above a whisper, but I want to leave this world doing something of my own free will. I want my last memory to be of something beautiful.

"Way down yonder, in the meadow Poor little baby, crying Mama Birds and the butterflies

Flutter 'round her eyes

Poor little baby, crying Mama."

To my surprise, she stops humming and begins to sing the words with me. Her voice is barely there at all, but it has the effect of filling me with hope and warmth. This is my final act of rebellion: he's not taking my life, I'm giving him permission to.

"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry Go to sleep, my little baby

When you wake, you shall have All the pretty little horses."

"I see you've made your decision," Snow says with a shrug, releasing my braid.

He brings the gun up to my temple again and I close my eyes tightly, preparing myself for the explosion as the happiest moments of my life flash before my eyes: falling off a swing and Mom kissing my scrape to make it feel better, decorating cookies with her, shaking a present on Christmas Eve when I was four and hearing a puppy's bark, walking in the woods, singing songs with my father, acting out my favorite movie in a third grade play, Peeta blushing in his lion costume, playing dolls with Prim, fishing, my first kiss, joking around with Gale, Mr. Mellark's cinnamon rolls, Peeta's blackberry tarts, the comfort of the bakery, the feel of Peeta's hand in mine, our lunchtime explorations, Prim's positivity about the future and hearing her dreams, today by the lake…

"DON'T! Don't shoot her!"

I abruptly open my eyes, horror-stricken as I recognize the one voice I'd hoped not to hear. Prim.

Snow takes the gun from my temple and aims it at her, but she runs back a little so he can't get a good shot. He runs toward her and shoots his pistol blindly, missing her and screaming profanities about how he's going to kill us all.

It happens in what seems like slow motion, yet also in the blink of an eye. I don't have time to think, I just act on impulse. With about six feet between me and Snow, I bring the rifle up and shoot. The impact from the blast almost causes me to lose my footing and fall backwards off the cliff, but luckily I catch my balance before I do. My ears are ringing and my eyes are closed, but I clearly hear the sickening thud of Snow's body hitting the ground.

And then silence.

"Katniss!" Prim yells, and I hear her running to me. "Are you all right?"

I open my eyes and nod without pausing to think. "Quick. Help me with Mom!"

We untie her, then lift her up and support her with our shoulders. She's light as a feather, but with my ribs still hurting and all my new injuries, it's excruciating. Still, it's the best pain ever, knowing we're getting to walk away from this alive.

I look at Snow only briefly as we pass him; it's dark and I can't tell where I shot him or if he's even dead, but he's not moving at all and there's a pool of blood beneath him.

As Prim and I make our way back home through the woods with Mom, she begins to hum again. Tears begin trailing freely from my eyes and I feel like falling to the ground and letting all my anguish out by screaming as loudly as I can, but I know I have to stay strong for Prim.

"Do you think he's dead?" Prim quietly asks.

"I hope," I answer, and it's true. While I don't like the idea of having killed someone, or that I'm technically a murderer, I don't feel regret; I feel relief. I'm angry that it had to come to this, but I'm also exhilarated and hopeful. I'm sure it'll sink in later, this horrible thing that I've done, but all I can think of right now is how much better our life will be without Snow in it.

I'm just worried about what Coin will do when he notices his absence.

When we're finally out of the woods and the trailer is in view, I immediately pull the phone from my pocket and dial Peeta's number. At the moment, I just want to put as much distance between us and this place as possible. When he answers, a fresh wave of tears fill my eyes.

Only moments ago, I was convinced I'd never hear his voice again.

"I'm ready…" I say as evenly as I can, though my voice breaks halfway through as I choke back a sob. "I'm ready to come live with you."

"Now?" he asks, his voice full of concern. "Is everything okay?"

"Not really. I don't know," I answer. "But… just please come tonight? As soon as you can?"

"I'm already on my way."

"Meet me at my house?"

He agrees without hesitation, though he sounds surprised. I still have to retrieve some personal belongings from the trailer, and I know there isn't any way I can heft my mom all the way to the end of the driveway. I'm surprised I managed to get her this far without collapsing from the pain.

I have no idea what happens from here on out, but all I do know is that this is either the beginning or the beginning of the end.