A Light from the Shadows Chapter 3: Post-Games, a hunger games fanfic

POST-GAMES

Gabriel wakes to the beeping of machinery. It takes him a moment to realize he's in a hospital. Capitol hospital, not District 9. He's numb all over, and he groans in confusion.

"Hey, Gabriel," comes a voice next to him.

He blinks up at the overhead lights fixed to the ceiling. After several long seconds, he realizes that the voice belongs to his mentor, and he turns his head to see the man sitting in a chair by his side.

"Welcome back."

Gabriel doesn't respond. Everything seems so convoluted and chaotic in his brain and nothing really makes sense. Slowly the memories start to filter back in. Fire. Bleeding. Pain. Death. He can't quite make things out of them yet, like they're just snippets of paper that he has to arrange in the right way to read the message. His head pounds, not with a headache but with confusion. In all the jumbled mess that he's sorting through, one thing is clear:

"I was supposed to die."

Bran has tried to convince Gabriel that everything is okay and that he's safe now. He provides words that might be encouraging were Gabriel in a position to give a shit about them. But he's not because all he can think now is that he should be dead and Collie should be in this hospital room with her mentor fluttering by her side. But that's not what's happening because Gabriel has failed.

"I know this is hard, but I need you to focus for a bit," come his mentors words.

Gabriel blinks and looks around the small room. He's no longer confined to his bed, and they've changed him from a simple gown to a pair of scrubs, but he's not allowed to leave the room without the doctor's permission and the presence of a member of hospital staff. Something about "suicide watch" or another. He glances at the nurse posted outside the door where she looks in through the big glass panels that allow them to keep an eye on him at all times.

"Can you hear me?" his mentor follows. When Gabriel nods, his mentor lets out a breath and sits back in his chair. The dog lay curled up at his ankles, and Gabriel finds it easier to look at her than Bran. He listens as his mentor explains some of the things that happened in the arena behind the scenes. The Presentation of the Victor will be in a matter of days, and Bran doesn't want him to be surprised by the things he sees on the screen. But Gabriel doesn't care anything about it.

He doesn't care about the way he tricked people. He doesn't care that the District 2 male was driven insane in his room and eventually offed himself. He doesn't care that their pool water electrolyte trick worked on the District 4 female when they were out on patrol, and she turned against her fellow Careers thinking it was their attempts to make her sick, only to be struck down in anger by her ally. He doesn't care that he killed three people. He doesn't care to learn their names, even when Bran says it's important. He doesn't care about any of this.

You've failed.

Oh, God, make it stop! Make it all stop!

You've failed.

He draws his legs to his chest and beats his palms against his temples in an attempt to make the words leave him. But they're still there, and they're pounding in his brain over and over and over and over and over and

Bran grabs onto his hands and holds them as the nurse lifts the sleeve of Gabriel's scrub shirt and administers an injection into his muscle.

His body grows heavier, and when Bran releases his hands, they sink down to the arm rest of the chair. Someone offers him water, but he just shakes his head.

His mentor gestures and a moment later, the great yellow Labrador lifts herself up and walks over to Gabriel. She rests her head in his lap. Despite himself, he moves his fingers down to her and strokes her gently. For the remainder of the afternoon, Bran and the dog sit with him, and no one speaks any more about the Hunger Games.

They drug him for the Presentation of the Victor, which is just as well. He barely smiles when the audience cheers and he's lifted up on stage, and then his mentor is there by his side. The man leads him over to the chair where he'll watch the entire fiasco unfold, but edited to look like a movie.

It's a damned good thing that they drugged him, otherwise he'd probably walk out before the Hunger Games even began. Fuck them all for thinking that this is an event that they can watch like the latest cinema hit.

One day after the other after the other. They show him most of the time, of course, but they show the other things. The Careers stalking the hallways before setting up bases in the north and south sections of the arena. The tributes darting into rooms and staying there once they saw the Careers patrolling. The District 12 male can't stop coughing after spending too much time in the room, so they easily find him and kill him. Same with his own district partner, Scarlett, the following day. He was right that the District 10 male killed his district partner after she grew more and more unhinged. The District 5 female and District 11 female actually slept themselves to death, never noticing the blades that the Careers plunged into their sleeping bodies. Gabriel doesn't care about the rest and tries to tune it out, but it's too hard to keep it all pushed away from him. Even worse is that he knows that his and Collie's adventures actually do make for good television content, and they really play up all the quirky rooms that they found along the way and how they used these to their advantage.

When it ends, everybody cheers. He hates it. He hates receiving the crown, too. It shouldn't be his crown. It should be Collie's. But it isn't. He hates it.

Gabriel stays close to Bran and his dog as they move through the party at the Presidential Palace. He's too groggy to be on his own, and he's completely detached from it all anyhow, like if Bran left him for even a few seconds, he'd float up to the ceiling and drift out through one of the many open skylights.

The voices don't stop coming, and he barely hears them:

"You did such a great job!"

"It's always wonderful to see such clever tributes!"

"Oh, you were so smart to handle Nell that way! What a wonderful final battle!"

"I'm so sorry that you lost your ally like that, but you were always the better of the two."

Gabriel balls his fists, but his mentor's hand on his shoulder steadies him. This isn't a fight he can get into. Not now. Not ever. Bran had warned him about this callous talk, but he hadn't thought mere words would hurt so damned much as this brilliant pain that sears his chest right now.

"Two District 9 wins in a row! Bran, you must be so happy!"

"We honestly didn't have money on you. We didn't think you'd make it. But you sure proved us wrong!"

"That District 1 girl was so ugly at the end. I'm glad you put her—and us—out of misery."

He hates their words. Their damned words. He hates it, and he feels himself unraveling, and he doesn't think he'll make it through this party, and why doesn't the pounding in his head stop, he knows he failed he failed he failed he failed he failed he

They almost don't have an interview, not after the way Gabriel handled the party last night but the interview is customary and it would reassure people that their newest victor was up to the challenge of his title. He didn't feel that way, and he at least wished they'd allow him to keep his mentor's dog with him during it, but they don't.

The interviewer, a woman by the name of Janice Lovely, is so patient with him and he tries. He really, honestly tries. But after the director tells them to take a break because Gabriel is about as exciting as a stale muffin, he knows that he's not trying hard enough.

A medic gives him a shot of something or another in his arm and vanishes as quickly has he had come. Gabriel feels his tightened muscles loosen, and the tension in his jaw dissipates. The interview continues, and he makes it through without further issue. He isn't sure how exciting it is for people at home, but they'll just intersperse it with scenes from the Hunger Games to keep things interesting.

He barely feels the train's movement as they're whisked away from the Capitol to be deposited in the asshole of Panem. Gabriel doesn't want to go back. He doesn't want to stay here, either. He wants to be—

"Hey, how're you holding up?" Bran asks as he takes the seat next to him.

Gabriel shrugs.

They're quiet as they watch the landscape fly by. Forests and mountains right now, but soon it'll break into the open plains that are more familiar to him. He sees his own reflection with haunted eyes and pale skin. The Capitol kept some of the blue veins that snaked up his neck and into his cheeks, and they washed away the few freckles that dotted the bridge of his nose. Yet the only thing he can really understand is how distant, how empty, his eyes are.

"It's going to be okay."

Gabriel looks up, a sour expression conveying his thoughts to his mentor.

"I'm serious," the man says. "Returning to the districts is not easy. Any victor will attest to that."

"I've failed her," Gabriel cuts in. "I was supposed to save her. She was supposed to win, but I—I failed her. I just watched as the Career killed her. Ran her sword straight through her like it was no big deal, like she didn't just kill her and—"

Gabriel bursts into tears. He buries his face in his hands and sobs openly. The first time he has done so in years.

"I know," his mentor says once his tears have calmed down.

Gabriel looks up and runs his sleeve under his nose.

His mentor leans back into the chair. "You win because other people have died, whether they deserve it or not. And that's not something that will ever leave you."

Gabriel turns away and stares out the window. He doesn't want to hear this. Not one damned bit.

"Gabriel, listen to me. . . ." The man says, and he pauses until Gabriel focuses back on him. "You didn't fail that girl. You treated her like a human, and that was the absolute best thing you could have done for her. When others turned their backs on her, you lifted her up. And that is what is remarkable here. Your selflessness and compassion speak louder than anything else—that's what people will remember about you."

Gabriel ducks his head at the unexpected complement and for a heartbeat, he actually believes the man's words. But then the ever-present chant of "failure" swells up and overtakes it, once more berating him for all that he couldn't do. He slumps down in his seat and sniffles.

His mentor allows him to sit with this thought for awhile before finally explaining to him the plan once they reach District 9. Gabriel half-listens while he talks about the cameras that will greet him and the victor mansion that will be his very own. And then all Gabriel can think about is a huge, gaping house whose walls laugh and breathe and remind him of all he failed to do. But something catches his attention as his mentor goes on, and he listens as the man tells him that a District 5 victor—James, the one who scored a 3 intentionally—will be spending time with him to help him adjust to victory. Like Gabriel, James was a product of the system of unwanted children, though he was passed from foster home to foster home, never quite finding a place that suited him.

"From a different district?"

Bran shrugs. "Capitol doesn't care as long as it's not drawing too much attention."

He doesn't have much time to contemplate this because the escort appears to usher them all off for dinner. But as he eats, he thinks, and as he thinks, he wonders: can he move between districts now? Because if he can, he'd very much like to visit District 12. To find Collie's family. To apologize in person. . . .

James isn't half-bad. Like Gabriel, he's a freak, too. The Capitol has given him the yellow-green eyes of a cat, vertical slits and all. He's about thirty years old, maybe. Quiet but not unfriendly. Charming despite the weird eyes. Handsome, even.

Yet the strange thing is that James gets it. He knows what it was like to be an unwanted kid. Unloved. Worthless. Overlooked.

He even gets what it's like to lose an ally. To fail an ally. Not quite in the same way, but he doesn't tell Gabriel that the important thing is that he lived even as nightmares of his failure haunt his brain.

They're in a car now upon James' insistence that they tour District 9. He says that he didn't get to see enough of the district during his Victory Tour. So the two of them drive, with Gabriel in the passenger seat and James at the wheel. Fields of wheat roll past them, interrupted only with small dirt roads or fences indicating property lines. On occasion they pass houses and barns, each one whipping by before Gabriel's tired eyes have a chance to lock on them.

"I read your profile from the community home," James says. Gabriel starts, and he opens his mouth to protest this gross intrusion of privacy before the older victor says, "No, hang on a second here. I told you, I know what it's like to not have family and win the Hunger Games. I wanted to know how best to help you, so I got permission to access your files. . . . And I'm glad I did, Gabriel. We're going to get you help."

"We?" Gabriel doesn't like the sound of this. He doesn't want the damned community home involved in his life anymore.

"Some of the other victors and me," the man says. He glances at Gabriel out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the road. Gabriel frowns. Not the community home but other victors? The victors would want to help him, even though he won and their tributes didn't? How strange. . . . James continues, "That's what we do—we help each other. Not all of us, but many of us do."

Gabriel exhales sharply. "I don't think you can help me."

"We can, and we will," James replies firmly.

Gabriel scoffs. "For what purpose?"

"This whole dealing with survivor's guilt thing is hard, Gabriel," the man says. "But you have a future—so many years ahead of you. It might not seem like it, not when you've been told you're shit your whole life and then you have to fight to prove your worth. I see it in you, and so do the others. People who have no future . . . they don't fight like that. They don't utilize the arena in the way you did. They don't sacrifice their own wellbeing to take in someone who needs help. You could have died many times in the arena, but you didn't because you know that there's so much more to live for."

"Yeah, I was trying to get Collie out alive," he scoffs. He almost tacks on a "thanks for reminding me" but bites it back at the last moment.

"The girl is just one piece," the man counters. "There was a reason you chose her, wasn't there?"

Gabriel hesitates. It sounds stupid when he says it out loud, and yet he finds himself still talking. "She had a family and a future. She was smart and clever. She shouldn't have died. I shouldn't have let her—"

"It's curiosity, Gabriel," James cuts him off before he can spiral into self-loathing. "You were curious about the arena, and so was Collie. Yeah, you might have seen that she had a loving family and you had none of that, but that's not what kept you with her, right? Least that's not what it looked like from my end."

"I—" Gabriel begins to protest but falls silent. James isn't wrong, at least not entirely. He was pretty curious in the arena. But he also knew he was going to die, and he had limited time left.

If that was true, why didn't I take a more aggressive tactic to protect Collie right away? Why did I bother exploring the arena?

He lets James' words sink in as the wheat fields drift by.

"People with that sort of curiosity—with that sort of fight—they want something more out of life," James says. "You have a future lying ahead of you, and you can't give in to the anger and sadness and guilt and whatever else."

Gabriel doesn't answer right away. How can he have a future after he's felt empty for so long? And it would only be at the expense of Collie that he's managed to look ahead of himself for the first time in years.

But maybe James is right. It . . . sounds funny, even in his own head, to say that he, Gabriel Carvey, has a future ahead of him. But that curiosity. . . . It had been so strong in the arena. And to have someone who wanted to be there with him, right at his side as he went from room to room searching for hidden treasures and secret messages. . . . It was the first real thing he'd felt in so long. He wishes he could feel it again, in its full force. But for now all he gets is a light twist in his abdomen as a question begins to form in his mind.

"Can I meet them? The other victors?"

"Absolutely," James says. "I think there are many you'll like."

Gabriel hopes so.

THE END

NOTES: Thank you to Amanda for creating Gabriel. He is such a wonderful character and I highly enjoyed writing him. At first I wasn't sure what to do with a suicidal tribute from District 9 because the main work I'm writing (about Bran and how he brought a tribute to victory during the 148th) has some overlapping themes, but Gabriel just kind of . . . did his thing despite the odds stacked against him. Weirdly enough, I've been meaning to tell a story like this for awhile but never got a chance to, so it was awesome that the perfect protagonist got dropped in my lap at the right time, and he really brought my original idea to life and made it his own. He is a lovely character and was fun to play with. In fact, I like him so much that I decided that he is the 149th victor and his win is canonical in my series. He may very well be returning in my next piece about the sixth Quarter Quell (i.e., the 150th Hunger Games) and future works. The fact that District 9, of all places, has back-to-back wins will affect later stories.

The general theme for the arena was inspired by a videogame called "OXIDE Room 104" but that's where the similarities end. (Very interesting premise to the game but ultimately not a great story.) I loved the idea of a run-down, twisted motel and went with it, ultimately creating my own motel with a much bigger and more complex map. Things such as the pool "water" corrupting tributes, breathing walls, and the like were all my original ideas, though puzzle boxes, random maintenance letters left in conspicuous places, and corpses handing out notes were inspired by other survival horror games.

As I mentioned previously, this event was hosted by SYOT Verses, a Hunger Games discord server. Thanks to them for hosting the event.

Thank you all for reading this. Maybe next year I'll figure out how to write a true short story. ;)