Chapter VI: Unnatural Rain

This morning, it is unseasonably warm and sunny. Late winter weather in Three is typically gray, with rain and ice. Snow is somewhat less common, but we will usually have a bit of accumulation by February. I don't like the cold and snow, so when we have a rare day like this, I usually try to enjoy it as much as possible, so I am up on the roof of the building with a book, a folding chair, and a thermos of tea. The sun warms my skin, and the sensation feels like a welcome embrace. The ambient noise of the world rushing about its' business below me seems to be quieter than normal. Perhaps many people have taken the day off to enjoy the gift of a premature spring day.

Beetee is downstairs in his penthouse having his chipped tooth examined by Daddy. I really don't care to watch Daddy's work, and neither does Mom. It's bad enough watching pain being purposefully inflicted on people, but now that I have a strained relationship with most of my family, being downstairs and watching Daddy would likely double my own discomfort.

The one relationship I kind of want back is my brother's, but his reaction to my new situation is the opposite of Daddy's: he actively avoids me. Before the Games, Edison was my protector as I think any big brother would be. I was usually left alone in school, but on the occasion that someone felt the need to bully me, Edison wouldn't be far away, telling my assailant to back off. Edison is three years older than I am, and when I was Reaped, it was his last year in the Reaping pool, so from now on he is safe. I know that before the Games, he had planned to apply for an inter-District passport so that he may go to the Capitol to be trained as a weapons tech designer for District Two. He probably could have used my name to get a passport to anywhere in the country with little hassle, but as far as I know he hasn't taken such advantage yet.

It occurs to me in that moment that maybe watching his baby sister fight to the death has affected him in a similar way to myself. Have I been so focused on myself that I've forgotten him, too?

The thought puts me on feet with a sudden urge to talk to Edison. Unless he is assisting Daddy with Beetee, he will likely be down in the apartment below mine.

I leave my book and tea on the chair and quickly head downstairs. I knock on the door to my family's apartment. There is no reply. I knock again. I hear a muffled sound. If it is someone telling me they are on their way, the world are inaudible.

After one more insistent knock, the door opens. A man I don't recognize is standing in the doorway. He's rather handsome, with dark brown skin and hair that is a bit longer than the style most men of Three wear. His shirt looks like it has been quickly thrown on. The buttons are mismatched.

"Who is it?" called a more familiar voice from behind the stranger.

"You sister," the stranger answers.

"It's ok," Edison calls.

The stranger steps aside and allows me entry. I gaze at him with some suspicion.

"You looking for Dad?" Edison calls from the sofa across the room. "He's up with Beetee."

"I know," I mutter. "I wanted you."

"Oh."

The stranger is clearly uncomfortable. "I should go."

"You don't have to, Ford," Edison suggests.

The stranger shakes his head. "No, you two should talk. I'll be by tomorrow. Nice meeting you at last, Wiress."

His voice is a little shaky, but cordial enough, so I give a little head bow.

"Yes."

With those parting words, the man leaves and gently shuts the door behind him.

"Sorry," I say quietly.

From the sofa, Edison shrugs and gets to his feet. "I didn't expect you. Do you want some tea or something?"

"No."

"Then what are you here for?" Edison's question is accompanied by a slight annoyance in his voice. I almost regret being there.

"What that a boyfriend?" I ask, referring to the handsome stranger.

Edison shrugs. "Not really. Just a cure for the boredom. Sit down."

I join him on the sofa, but I don't feel any more comfortable than when I was standing up.

I suddenly notice that Edison, while always a bit on the thin side, is closer to gaunt than he's been since I've known him. His skin is pallid. His eyes are sunken in, and his hair is limp and unruly, falling below his ears. He doesn't look like is about to turn nineteen in a month. Instead, he looks about to retire in a month.

"Are you sick?" I ask.

Edison glares at me through bloodshot eyes. "No…I mean…maybe…no."

"You are. And you won't tell me about it because you hate me now."

Edison gives me a queer look. "You think that?"

"How…how can I not?"

"Wirey, what's wrong with you?" he blurts out.

My old self begins to come out, the self that responded to emotional upheaval with ranting instead of silence. "What's wrong with me? How about the fact that I've talked to you TWICE since last summer? How about the fact that I know you don't like being around me anymore, or that you look so sick but won't say a word to me? What do you think I am?"

Edison is silent, but he chuckles under his breath. "Don't…don't assume I hate you, okay?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

I pout my lips and give Edison my best attempt at a death stare until he explains himself.

"I just thought you wanted to be on your own," Edison says weakly. "I wanted to give you space."

That's a lie, and I know it instantly. "How considerate of you," I respond. "Now, why don't you tell me the real reason you won't visit me?"

Edison looks angry with me for talking back to him, especially with such vitriol. It's uncomfortably quiet for a moment.

"Fine, then. The real reason? You're becoming inconsiderate. A jerk. To all of us."

My mouth falls open at the insult. "What?"

"You don't think I see the way you treat Dad? Like some inferior? You treat us all that way. You treat Beetee as more of a brother than me! You cut Mom and Dad out almost entirely. They worry about you, Wirey. And I—I can't watch as you tear us all apart!"

I match his anger. "You honestly think that's what I'm doing? That I'm acting like some Capitol person by sticking my nose up at you? Have you even HEARD some of the things our father says? He jokes! He makes fun of how famous and successful he is because of me! He laughs at the good things that are happening to us because I won the Games! None of you will EVER know what it's like being there. Watching people die, and in turn knowing people are watching you too!"

Edison bites his lip and nods. "You're right. I don't. But you just because I wasn't there doesn't mean I don't deal with…with SHIT of my own."

He darts into the hallway to retrieve something. It takes only a moment. He returns with a small clear vial, which he aggressively tosses at me.

The white label on the side of the small bottle reads Morphling tonic, 20ml.

I frown. "What does this have to do with anything? Daddy uses this on patients who have surgery all the time. He's probably giving Beetee some right now."

"It's not his, it's mine," Edison says, his voice hard. "Dad uses a watered-down morphling mixture as an anesthetic. This is pure."

It all falls into place. Edison is shooting morphling recreationally. I can't believe it.

"…why? Edison…I…" My words leave me again.

"That man you saw walk out…I get it from him in exchange for—"

"—please don't finish that thought," I shoot back. "How long?"

Edison sits down again, his initial fury subsiding. "I took my first dose after you came out of the tunnel in the area covered in blood and dragging the body of that liar boyfriend of yours."

"Don't talk about him like that," I insist.

"It's the damn truth! I took some to take my mind off the fact that I was thinking I was watching my baby sister die! After that, it became all I had. Even after you came home, I needed it because Mom was burying herself in work, Daddy was joking around like an ass, and you were always off with Beetee or making appearances on national news. Where the hell am I supposed to fit into this new world, Wirey? You don't need me, Mom and Dad don't need me, and no one else cares to look at me! Yes, I wasn't there in the arena. I've never killed anyone. But don't you think it's hard realizing the little girl I held as a baby and played games with as a kid has a body count to her name is hard?"

"That isn't fair," I reply, my voice beginning to crack. "Am I monster to you now? Is that it?"

Edison grunted. "Beetee seems like a nice boy…but he killed six kids on purpose. You set two girls on fire at the endgame."

"And you hold us responsible? What were we supposed to do, then?"

"I thought you were the moral compass for all of us," Edison says, punctuating his words by snatching back the vial of morphling from me. "I was hoping you would win by hiding out. But seeing you come home from killing people only to treat us as plebeians put me over the edge!"

"I can't believe that's how you see it."

"Well, it is."

"So," I take a breath. "You would give up our relationship and our family, as well as your future, for morphling because it makes you feel better?"

Edison doesn't speak. "Sometimes," he whispers. "I don't think you're my sister. Sometimes I think she died in that arena. Sometimes…I wish that's how it was."

I can't bear to hear this. I can't. I get to my feet, deciding I can't handle this anymore, but before I turn for the door, Edison continues.

"You aren't okay anymore," he adds. "I saw it very clearly when you came home. You used to not go out because it just didn't interest you. Now it's like you're afraid. It's like something in your head is deteriorating, and it's making you suffer from inside. You mumble things under your breath like a crazy person. I don't want to keep watching that until it kills you."

"It won't" I snap. "Not before the morphling kills you first."

"What morphling?" Daddy asks.

Neither of us had noticed him come in. He's got two large suitcases with him, one hold most of his dental tools, and the other probably holds the portable drill he uses for the rare house call.

"Dad…how long have you been here?" asks Edison.

"I just came in," he answers. "Beetee's fine. Had to give him a root canal, but he's asleep from the anesthetic now. Wiress, I'd check on him in a few hours."

I nod silently. I look to Edison, who's look is drastically different from before daddy walked in.

He's pleading with me! I think. He doesn't want me to tell Daddy.

But I have no desire to stay in that room another second, anyway. So, I say one last thing to my brother.

"As you wish. I'll never talk to you again."

After my declaration, I leave the apartment and hold my tears until I reach my room. I go directly into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I strip naked and slide under the water, curling up into a ball and feeling the stream soak me through like an unnatural rain.

I suddenly don't care about how lovely it is outside.

I nearly forget to check up on Beetee entirely. After spending an hour under the shower, I crawl into bed naked and lie alone with my thoughts until it's almost sunset.

What gives Edison the nerve to accuse me of being a pawn for the Capitol, or an unashamed murderer who thinks only of herself? Is it the morphling giving him those ideas?

Well, he can have them, I conclude. Have it his way.

It is only when I think that Beetee may have some answers that I remember my duty to make sure he isn't in any pain from his surgery. Reluctantly, I get out of bed, my body feeling heavy and aching. I spend about five seconds choosing clothes to go upstairs, deciding on the first loose pair of pants I can find, along with a light black top and a Capitol-gifted silk robe with a green pattern of curling vines up the wide sleeves. My hair is a frizzy mess, and my eyes are bloodshot from the crying, but I know Beetee won't care.

I let myself into his penthouse with the key he gave me. The whole apartment is dark as the sun sets, but I know my way around it enough to know where steps and obstacles lie without turning on any unnecessary lights. I make my way into Beetee's bedroom.

He appears to still be fast asleep, so I make no move beyond the doorway.

I could wake him, to make sure things are okay like Daddy asked, but I choose not to. Instead, I watch Beetee a moment in silence. I know it's the morphling is making him sleep, but I feel a pang of jealousy for how soundly unconscious he appears in the darkness.

A moment later, I'm proven wrong as Beetee stirs under the covers and turns his head to look in my direction.

"Who is it? Dr. Ohmstead?" he mumbles, still groggy. He extends a hand for his glasses, and after putting them on, sits up and turns on the bedside lamp.

His words are a little garbled, probably from the trauma to his mouth earlier. "Oh, Wire. What a nice surprise. I heard someone come in."

"I hope I didn't—"

"—wake me? No, I've been coming around for a little while, but the medicine your father gave me is a bit disorienting. At least now I have a reason to get up."

I shake my head silently. "Want anything?"

Beetee shrugs. "I'm a little hungry, but I don't think I'll be able to eat anything more solid than broth until the pain deadens."

"Are you in a lot of pain?"

He shakes his head. "A fair bit. It's bearable though, thank you. Your father is highly skilled in his trade."

He begins to get out of bed. I lean against the doorway as he goes to put on a shirt. Usually, being in Beetee's presence anchors my mind to the Earth, but after everything that's happened today, I'm mindless, even now.

The man is so gentle. How can Edison think he is a monster? Or that I am? How could he prefer that we die instead of return home by any means necessary? Did he wish that I died quickly and without a fight like my District partner did?

My head is swimming in all of these unsolicited thoughts. I realize I can't stay. I can't upset Beetee in his current condition.

I don't even wait for Beetee to come away from his dresser. I turn away and leave.

"Wiress—" is all I can hear Beetee say before I slam the front door and proceed down the stairs.

My body leads me past my apartment, past my family's apartment, down, down, down until I reach the lobby of the building. I rush past the lone Peacekeeper guarding the door and go out into the street, unescorted, for the first time since the Games.

The Victor's Village is part of a square in the center of the Inner City. The Justice building is nearby. The rest are high-rise businesses and factories, with boulevards leading off in four separate ways, like the four winds going off in different directions. I choose the one on my right and begin slowing my pace, keeping my head down so as not to be recognized.

Hours go by as the evening gets darker and colder. I have no coat on, and I feel the chill of nightfall creeping up my back.

Deciding I'm sufficiently lost in the city, and that I need protection from the cold, I find the nearest place that looks to be open and receptive to the public. A neon sign flickers on and off, reading the word "Café" with an arrow pointing to a stairwell leading down and inside the basement. No light emanates from the windows, but that seems to be because heavy black curtains are drawn over them from the inside.

I go down the stairs and open the door. It leads to a dark, cold, empty foyer. At the far end, a burly man stands by a door, guarding it.

"H…hello?" I ask timidly, approaching the guard.

"Were you invited?" the man asks.

"Oh…no. I didn't realize this was a private—"

"—I know you! You're the Victor girl!" The guard's stern demeanor changes instantly, and my heart drops as I realize I've been recognized. That is the last thing I want right now.

"I'll just go.."

"Damn, but you look like you've seen better days. Guess that's why you're here," the man says. "Of course you can go in! I'll escort you to a table myself, Miss Wiress."

The guard opens the door, and I'm accosted by a very strange smell as it wafts up my nose in thick smoke.

Before me is a dimly-lit café. Off to the left is a bar, and the room is set up with tables in three layers of a semi-circle, each layer leading down into a pit with more tables and chairs. Above the pit is a stage where a man sits and fiddles with some kind of instrument I don't recognize. Opposite the bar on the other side of the large room is a separate area, where some of the guests look as willowy and sick as Edison.

The guard notices me looking in that direction, and he says, "That's the morphling den. Ninety-credit minimum and you can shoot all night if you want."

The herbal, skunky odor increases as the man leads me down one layer, then another, to the pit in front of the stage. He takes me to a table for two off to the side and seats me.

Everyone around is me contributing to the odor in the air by smoking. Now I can identify the smell. It's a smell most in Panem don't recognize, because the substance is outlawed.

It's Canna. A drug bred from an extinct plant called cannabis. Cannabis used to be smoked or eaten in order to obtain and artificial high that dulled pain and increased appetite. As the plant began to die out, pre-Panem scientists bred an alternative that is 40-45% more concentrated. Panem outlawed it quickly. All substances not sanctioned for medical or scientific use are illegal. But that never stopped anyone in human history from hunting it down.

I feel the burly man press something into my hand. It's a Canna cigarette.

"On the house," he says pleasantly. "Go up to the bar and Les will get you anything you want for free. I imagine you sorely need it."

"Uhh," is all I manage to utter as I hold the Canna between my fingers.

"Oh, allow me," the man says, taking out a metal lighter and in one quick motion, lighting the tip of the cigarette for me like a gentleman.

"Welcome to District Three nightlife!"