Part of me searches desperately for a chink in a hologram, any hint of a blue halo projection, or the slightes sign of orange bubbles or static; hoping the image of Thread standing behind my sister, gripping her tightly to him and pressing a makeshift weapon to her throat, is artificial. But I know, thanks to my daily mantras given to me by my therapist, that we are hundreds of feet underground, miles away from anything that can fake this moment like the Gamemakers in the arena.
Prim is dressed in her hospital uniform, her two braids frazzled from the day's hard work. Her apron soiled from the usual medical hazards with the addition of fresh stains of blood. A grimy red hand is cemented firmly across her small chest while the other coerces her chin to lift upwards away from its dangerous utensil.
For being squeezed against the sweaty bare torso of an escaped fugitive, Prim's breathing is surprisingly calm, however, her swollen red eyes tell me her best efforts won't last much longer. Her face is pale, paler than the man holding her. Prim's white skin is a stark contrast to the blossoming pink blotches on her throat. Scratches and a few welts document that Thread hadn't taken much care in delivering this package.
Thread's breathing, unlike Prim's, is frantic and labored. These past few months of being sedentary have left him weak and whatever power he summoned to escape and capture my sister is almost drained. Air is sucked through a parched, gaping mouth.
A sick vibration tremors down my spine, worse than my first reunion with him hosted by Coin. I swallow hard, demanding the churning eels in my stomach to cease.
"What do you want?" I say through gritted teeth. If he weren't so dangerously capable of killing my sister with a flick of his wrist, I would have greeted him with a more physical response.
Thread shifts his weight from one bare foot to the other, obviously in pain from being shackled for so long. The soles of his feet were also bloodied. Spatter covered his shins and knees. The anxious man's toes flex, ready for their next command to flee or fight.
"The fuck do you think I want? I want out of here," he growls. The shroud of white whiskers around his face makes his neglected teeth appear rusted. The black grime encrusted in the creases of his face, exaggerates the man's age.
"How?" I ask. "By holding a little girl hostage?"
"I'm taking you both," he says confidently. He's so small and emaciated, his frailty exaggerated by the oversized filthy sweatpants he donned in his cell. "You, me and the girl. To the surface."
"There's nothing up there. You won't make it two miles," I say firmly in an attempt to extinguish any hope he may have.
"We left supplies. There's a tracker up there too. I kept it powered off to save the batteries. Once I'm up there, I'll be picked up in less than twenty minutes and this place will be buried in another five."
Prim's only movements are her hands, clenching closed every time Thread pushes the sharp point of the shiv against her skin as he laboriously shifts his weight on his raw and cracked feet. I try to mirror my sister's composure and hope that only my ears alone can hear how loud my heart is pounding.
His eyes dart around, scared like a captured stray, willing to bite anyone who gets too close.
"How'd you get out?" I ask, stalling the conversation, hoping that the soldiers I passed moments ago will make their rounds to our corridor soon.
"You know how many divisions I have trained? How many enemies I've captured? 13 is using textbooks from before the Dark Ages! You all are a fucking joke!" His voice husky, a symptom of his dank living conditions.
"Let her go. You don't need her," I state plainly. "I'll take you myself."
"Ah, ah. It ain't gonna work like that, missy," Thread says, pressing her tighter against him. "You need to follow my rules, remember?"
"Or what? You'll kill her? She doesn't mean anything to anyone down here. You know Coin just uses her people up like old rags," I say, hoping my sister won't take this to heart as I try to lessen her value to him. "She's only a volunteer and has no access to the upper levels. She'll be dead weight," I reach a hand out to him, as if offering him myself. "I can get you where you want to go, much faster."
"She means something to you," he pauses, "but if you think she's dead weight, that can be arranged," Thread says as he pushes the sharpened toothbrush against her throat. Hard enough that a red bead appears from the pink canvas, matching the color that has already stained the weapon. Prim squeaks and jolts up onto her tiptoes in an attempt to pull away from the instrument. I step forward, but stop when he makes a half turn away from me, still clutching Prim in his arm.
"Tsk, tsk. Step back, Tribute!" he barks. "Do as I say and follow the fucking rules!" His face twists in anger and authority.
"Just take me," I plea again. "Kill me if you have to. Just let her go."
"Kill you? They've got hours, weeks of you on video. You'll live on forever. Who cares if you die down here? Coin will string your corpse along long after the Capitol falls. No one would ever know."
I can't help but agree with this man. Every waking hour, Cressida and the boys were filming me training, waving flags, visiting the wounded, assisting the workers, hugging my family. They could stretch these images for ages if they wanted to.
"Plus," Thread continues, adjusting his grip slightly, "you have a hard time following orders. This little girl has volunteered to be insurance that you won't lead me into one of your favorite hiding places instead. Although," he pauses and a smile creeps across his face. "I do like the one with the warm water pipes that clunk and hiss and kind of play a tune. You know, the one you would hum along to?" he chuckles wickedly. "So sweet."
I stumble back at his words and my mouth waters at the taste of bile. So he did see me in those dark tunnels where I escaped the horrors of my world, only to unknowingly wander into an even more dangerous terrain.
"Why now? You could have used me to escape back then," I manage.
"What would a washed up, mentally fucked little turd wandering the halls do for me then? We were waiting to use Beetee's tech. And don't you remember? I already used you up back in 12," he says with yellow teeth flashing. I silently beg for him to not go into specifics; his filthy mouth so close to my still innocent sister's ears.
Thread eyes my tightly clenched fists at my side, my knuckles surely bright white.
"We can do this the easy way, or…" he sweeps his left hand away from Prim's chest to the back of her neck and curls his blackened fingers tightly around her two braids. He pulls her head back, exposing her even more, his mouth devilishly close to her tender skin. "... the fun way?"
"Don't you touch her!" I yell, making his smile grow wide, deeping the grimy creases around his eyes which he never takes off of me. "I'll fucking kill you!" I shout again, stomping my foot in exclamation.
"Oh, this poor little sparrow still has some fight in her, eh?"
Johanna was right, he got pleasure from toying with his distressed prey.
I stomp again, "Let her go!"
Thread lets out a low chuckle. Suddenly, his devious amusement is replaced with a loud yelp. My clever sister had driven her heel hard on top of his bare foot and took the opportunity to tear away from his grasp to bolt towards me. I yell at her to run. Run and get help. Without breaking stride, she scurries past me down the hall, lighting up the motion sensors along the way.
Thread bends forward raising his injured left foot, both hands free of child and weapon. With my full strength, I barrel forward and crash into him, sending his body into the hard brick. Thread slumps down on the ground and leans his back against the wall with a groan. Bracing myself with my hands against the wall so I am standing over his crumpled body, to send my knee into his face. I hear two thuds, my knee cracking his nose and the back of his head meeting the immovable barrier behind him. I swing my leg back to strike again. Instinctively, Thread lashes out and wraps his arms around my other leg before I can make a second contact to his gushing nose, making me topple over onto the ground beside him.
"Bitch!" he yells and hammers his fists downwards against my head and my shoulders. I bend my knees up and kick out as hard as I can, knocking him away from me. I have a moment to roll over and try to crawl away, but he's instantly back on top of me, clutching at my hair and my shirt, pulling me back to him. When he turns me over, his jaw is met with my fist - much harder than when they were first introduced on that dusty kitchen floor. This time awards me with a splatter of blood from his mouth. I kick at him again with my boots, landing them squarely in his belly. He grunts loudly as he falls back onto his butt.
This buys me enough time to scramble to my feet and I start off down the hall only to pause for a moment. I realize I can't run too far, otherwise he will go into hiding again if he loses me. Plus, if Prim did find someone to help, they would need to find us where she last remembered. Maybe I can lead him to the soldiers on patrol. The direction my sister ran has gone dark again, the power grid only generous enough for a few moments of light.
I listen for Thread's bare feet slapping the concrete to get closer and start to run again, just fast enough to keep out of his reach. I am tempted to scream for help, but afraid that will make him abandon his mission of my capture. Suddenly, I remember a gated server room with a busted lock, positioned in a way that anyone casually passing would be fooled by its charade. A favorite cubby hole that many on patrol ignored because of its bold letters stating Keep Out. Maybe I can overtake him and shove him inside, holding him there long enough for help to arrive.
My hair that I pulled loose in my anticipation of a nice, calming shower, clings to my sweaty forehead and neck. I look back over my shoulder and I am surprised with his speed, even though he hobbles with each stride as he sprints after me. I fear I may have given him too much time to catch up.
I round the second corner and see the silver gate at the end of the dark hallway. I push as hard as I can to lengthen the distance between us so I can lead him into the server room with time enough to counter attack. My boots squeak against the smooth floor as I skid to a halt and I grip the chain link to keep me from sliding past my destination. My impact with the gate sends a sound like shattered glass echoing down the hallway. Motion sensors kick on the light above me and illuminates a shocking discovery. I reach down to the latch, Thread only a few yards away, and find that it has a new lock slipped in its eyelet, securely fastened. I jerk at the tiny scuffed lock in disbelief. I guess after finding me there, so close to sensitive equipment, they figured not only was I Mentally Disturbed, but I wasn't willing to read any warning signs and the best course of action was to actually lock it up correctly.
Thread crashes into me, tearing my fingers away from the fenced gate, and takes me down with him. His ferocity sends us sliding several feet along the floor, allowing me enough time to feel and understand the impact my head made against the hard ground, but not enough time to block his sudden blows raining down on me that follows soon after. For all of the times he wasn't allowed to bruise or scar my face, he is certainly making up for it now.
He pulls back to catch his breath and admire his work left on his knuckles. "Oh, what I wanted to do to you back in 12," he says, gasping for air.
"What else was there to do?" I cry. "You already fucked me! You already ruined me!" I retort and manage to put my arms up over my face, blocking any more blows if and when Thread were to regain his strength.
"The blood from your cunt was enough for Snow, but not for me. I would have made you bleed like a fucking pig if I had the chance."
I'm gasping too, unsure of how to counter his next move now that he is straddling me. He may have withered down here but he has somehow conjured strength from somewhere; strength I lacked. My core is still on the mend from my gunshot back in 2 and the tumble resurrected the old pains. My skull is pounding. A tooth feels loose in its copper flavored bath.
"Why didn't you do it then?" I ask, moving my arms to look at his red streaked face. "Why didn't you put me out of my fucking misery then?" I shout this time. This is not the man with a gun to my head, yet he yielded more power over me. I begin to feel defeat and when that happens I become aloof to where my actions will get me. He remains quiet so I slap his bare torso. "Why?," I cry, slapping him again to elicit a response. "You had me. You won!"
Thread leans forward, grasping my collar tightly in his hands; his dripping mouth hovering over my face.
"That's where the power is, missy. Ending you would have been too easy. I could have had you any time - the whole time. Snow thought we went too far with the Mason girl - thought she became useless. I disagree. I think it's Snow who's gone soft."
His grip tightens as he presses his fists down on my neck. "We should have shortened your leash. You Victors think you're better than us."
"No! It's not our fault," I choke out. I try to buck him off of me, but his weight is too much to bear. Thread slaps me with an open hand, making me cover my face again.
"You fucked everything up! The system was perfect!" Suddenly, his body jerks, not from my doing and I hear him gag. I look up to see Finnick standing behind Thread with a short length of rope pulled around our abuser's neck. Thread, wide eyed and gasping, claws at the restraint and manages to get a finger between the cord and his windpipe. Blood sprays from his mouth as he coughs and dribbles down his chin over his frantic filthy fingers and onto his chest.
"The system is sick," Finick says sternly, his lip twitching at the internal struggle to not kill this man.
"Get fucked," Thread spits at Finnick.
"I should return the favor," Finnick replies, leaning in close to Thread's ear. This makes Thread hunch down, increasing his weight on me. Even if I wasn't stunned at this encounter and my mind cloudy from the painful blows, I would have remained still, curious to see how Finnick handles this man. "You're lucky Johanna isn't here. She'd have your severed balls in your mouth before you can say District 7."
"She was my favorite you know," Thread replies. Finnick gives a hard yank, trying to pull him off of me, but Thread doesn't budge. Finnick's efforts are met with hearty chuckles from Thread. "But you," he returns his attention to me, "you left me wanting more. What a treat to be the one to pop your little cherry."
A piercing explosion echoes through the corridor. Thread's red and rusted smile melts into a gaping bloody void, and I watch above me, a red flower blossom on his chest.
FInnick, stunned, releases the tether from around Thread's neck allowing the once powerful figure of authority of our Districts to slump lifelessly on top of me.
The sudden weight encapsulates me, sending me into a frenzy. I scream and try to push him off of me, but the blood spilling from his chest makes my hands slip defectively against his skin. I kick my boots and squirm to get away. Despite the bright lights, the dark and dusty scene of the old kitchen comes rushing back.
I don't hear the clamor of people rushing towards me, calling my name. I'm still screaming as Thread's body is pulled off of me. It's only when Gale pulls me into his arms that my screams are muffled.
-o-
Monitors and computers sing their all too familiar song as I sit silently at the edge of a hospital bed, still soaked in blood from head to toe. They haven't even allowed me to wipe my face or remove my boots, not yet finished with their investigation, they said. I feel forgotten in this tiny curtained off section of the hospital. They started off with a barrage of questions, poking and prodding at my body, but my mind was still stuck in that kitchen. A fog that refuses to lift, swirls the events in the halls with my dream in the meadow. The dream where Thread killed Gale. What was real anymore? My wires are getting crossed again.
I hear shouting on the other side of the room, my white curtain only shielding me from peoples' gaze - not their voices.
"How could you?"
"You heard what he said."
"He was only meant to be captured!"
The fog closes in on me again, whisking me away from comprehension. I should be happy. Happy the fucker is dead. But it was supposed to be me to kill him, and given the opportunity to do so, I crumbled. I failed. Maybe I do need someone to hold my hand through this war afterall.
Eventually, a nurse draws back the curtain, revealing herself and a soldier at her side.
"Her charts look good. Nothing broken. Stable enough to be moved," she says. The soldier gives a nod in approval and gives a snappy about-face and leaves.
"C'mon, sweetie. Let's get you cleaned up," the woman, who must be the same age as my mother, reaches her hand out kindly. I obediently allow her to lead me to the showers where she gently undresses me and sits me down on a plastic stool. This station has a long flexible hose with a shower head that she holds in her hands, letting the water run through her fingers until it is of a suitable, warm temperature. Her voice is soft as she speaks to me, dictating how and where she will touch me with the washcloth, asking permission in some places. Much different than my prep team where they tug, scrub and pluck whatever they wanted while my input was never valued enough to ask for.
Once she pats me dry with a towel, she assists in getting me dressed in the standard grey civilian garb. My boots are still my old boots, but someone had cleaned and polished any sign they had to trudge through a river of blood on their exodus from what they call 'The Scene.'
"Are you wanting to see anyone just yet, dear?" the kind nurse asks. Her hazel eyes crinkle with her small thin smile as she dabs some of the ugly tasting ointment on my split lip and my left cheek.
I guess I won't be going back to the hospital wing after all.
Where would I start? I certainly don't want to talk with Coin yet, I'm still unsure of what happened.
"Is Prim okay?" I say, my first words since the incident. The nurse nods reassuringly.
"Do you want me to take you to her?" she asks.
"Please."
-o-
The sweet little nurse holds my hand the entire way back to my mom and Prim's quarters. Before letting my hand go, she gives a little squeeze, reassuring me everything will be okay before she disappears down the dimly lit hallway. I slowly open the grey metal door and find Prim sitting in the middle of the room as my mom fusses with tiny cotton balls, pressing them to Prim's neck. My entrance startles both of them, but in an instant, they rush towards me and wrap me in a hug so tight, I think of the first time I returned home from the Games. Unlike my other reunions these past few months that were met with quiet whispers and light touches as I regained consciousness when returning from so-called battles.
"I'm okay. I'm alright. Mom, really. It's all over," I say softly, but this doesn't reassure her. She pulls away at my words and stares at me for a moment before taking my face in her hands.
"For now, sweetie. I'm glad you're here," she says, giving me a kiss on the forehead.
I turn to Prim, her braids freshly cleaned and brushed out, letting the full length of her hair reach the middle of her back. "You did so good back there. You okay?"
Prim gives a weak smile, and her fingers touch the pink blotches at her throat. "It's just a scratch, really."
I smile and turn to my mom, "Thank you for taking care of her. Can - can we get a minute?" I ask, gesturing to my sister. I needed to talk to Prim in private, not sure what dialogue from the hallway had come to light to our mother.
She bashfully complies and gathers up a small satchel, "I need to get more supplies anyway."
I wait until she has left the room before I pull Prim in tightly for another hug, "I'm so sorry! I'm so so sorry!" I can barely hear her muffled replies against my shoulder that it's okay, that she's fine, but she grips me just as hard.
Finally, I pull away and rub my face with my hands, "How? When? I mean, oh my god." I can only stammer at this point, unsure what to say as my eyes start to burn.
My sister, who I left so long ago, so tiny in that scorching hot field to take her place, now stands in front of me almost eye to eye.
"He grabbed me on the way back here. We headed straight to your quarters, that was it. He talked and we walked. Nothing else," she replied plainly.
"He didn't say anything about me?"
"Not really. Just that we were going to find you. Wait for you. And of course, if I screamed, I would die. The usual hostage stuff."
My heart shattered at how calm she was. This was not usual hostage stuff that she so simply put it as. Why should this child be showing more bravery than the most hardened commanders?
I cross the room and sit on her bed, dropping my face to my hands.
"You don't understand how dangerous that man was," I say, my body starts to shiver as if I was dunked in an ice bath. "He was bad. Really bad."
"I know," Prim says quietly, making me jerk upright to look at her.
"Prim, I know there wasn't ever a time or place to talk about this after the last Games, but…" I can't catch my breath suddenly.
My sister kneels in front of me and takes my hands, "It's all over. It's in the past."
"No, no, no it's not. We have to live with all of this! And I need to know what happened when I was gone."
Prim looks at me somberly, but there's something missing - no shame or hate, just sadness. "Nothing… besides them confiscating Lady, nothing. After that, I spent the entire time watching every Peacekeeper really close and looking over my shoulder, I think I scared myself more than they did. He had someone watching me everywhere I went. Guards outside our house every night. Mom thought it was just usual Game protocol for the families, but I knew differently."
"They never touched you? Said anything to you?" I ask. She ponders for a moment and shakes her head.
I let out a huge sigh of relief, but still feel the chill of pain from the infinite intimidation that bastard put on my family.
"I knew he hurt you somehow," she continues, "not just when Gale was whipped, or when he almost caught you jumping that fence. He got to you somehow. I watched you during the reaping and the video footage afterwards. You were scared of him."
I sit up straight at her words. How obvious was it that something had happened? I stood up to him on that stage. I stood up to Panem. I stood up to Snow. I hated myself for showing any hint of weakness.
"I also knew something was wrong when they took us away that night before the Reaping. What did he do?" she asks.
I feel like I am dunked in the ice bath again and start to shiver. I can't look at my own sister, but I answer anyway. "I left our house that night, to go back to our old house for my Mockingjay pin. He found me there, and well, didn't like that I was out after curfew."
Prim stays quiet, knowing full well there is more to this story.
I sigh and take my hands from hers, wrapping my arms around myself. "He messed me up pretty bad, you know his ways of giving warnings."
"You didn't look hurt, just scared."
"Thread was pretty good at hurting people in other ways, too," I whisper, my sight completely distorted by welling tears.
This was enough for Prim because she pulls me into another hug, a hug I so desperately missed from my mother when things got hard. When did Prim grow up so much to take on the pain of others? Her wisdom back home when Gale was recovering from Thread's punishment amazed me, and now Thread has left her with another casualty of his actions.
After a short while, our mother returns from foraging for supplies and informs me that Coin has called a meeting.
-o-
A familiar soldier escorts me to the lower levels to the conference hall where Coin has arranged a debriefing with everyone involved in this evening's events. The soldier who was responsible for wrangling me from my hiding places, doesn't have his usual annoyed look on his face, but now has a mix of sympathy and pride. I was someone important to him who had been through some seriously tough shit.
I am the last to arrive and find Gale, Finnick, Haymitch and Johanna all seated quietly at the large table with Coin standing at her usual spot at the front of the room.
"Katniss, I'm glad you're alright. Please have a seat," Coin says.
I look at my companions, everyone gives a curt nod and half smile, all except Gale who keeps his eyes to his lap. I see Finnick still has his length of rope, now stained with red, tying it over and over into knots, creating a candy cane stripe pattern when he does so.
I sit down between Haymitch and Johanna. Johanna has her knees up to her chin and she's chewing on her thumbnail. Haymitch greets me with a pat on my shoulder and a 'hey kiddo.'
"I am guessing you are all wondering how our prisoner managed his escape?" Coin said, addressing us as she starts a slow pace, fingertips pressed together in front of her.
"Yeah, how did that fucker get out?" Johanna retorts.
Coin clears her throat and turns to the screen behind her and makes a sweeping gesture with her right hand, revealing digital images to appear in front of the District 13 crest.
We had all seen casualties of war and in the Games, yet the images elicited a response from all of us. Be it a gasp, a whistle or a groan, these were photographic evidence that something gruesome had happened.
The images were of four men in a small white room with a small drain in the middle of it. One was hanged by his neck, his pants used as a noose tied to the overhanging water pipe. Another, unrecognizable since his skull had been completely crushed against the cell bench. He was laying next to two dead guards, their legs wildly splayed and eyes still open wide in terror with their hands clutching their bloodied throats.
"The report states that Thread had tried to get the guards attention after his cellmate hanged himself. Since they were captives and traitors set to be executed, they felt there was no need to address the issue and deemed it unnecessary to access the cell or have the remaining prisoners moved."
This statement garnered an even more dramatic response from the room.
"You made him stay in there? With… with that?" Finnick points to the screen, absolutely astonished at the scenario.
Coin sucks her teeth and says, "if you notice the bruising on the body, it is obvious Thread had staged this to get us to open the door." She was right. The nude figure's torso was splotched and purple. One of his legs was hanging in an unnatural angle seeing as how his knee was been broken.
"So you left the other guy in there too?" Haymitch asks, sitting forward in his chair.
Coin gave a shrug, "my orders to not open the cell under any circumstances were followed."
"But someone did," I say simply.'
"The screams from the other man finally got the guards attention. We do have an execution to host after all and it would be disappointing to not have our honored guests in attendance." If there was an attempt at humor, it failed miserably. Seeing that her comment was not appreciated in the slightest by the Victors, she cleared her throat again and continued, "When they saw Thread assaulting the other prisoner, they rushed in to try and separate the two. That's when Thread stabbed the two guards in the neck and made his escape," Coin reported dryly.
"How long before someone noticed?" Finnick asks, surely worried about what other damage Thread could have done thanks to the incompetence of the security team.
"Rounds are made every fifteen minutes. It was reported in thirty."
"What the fuck," Haymitch muttered under his breath.
"Understandably, the ones who were on duty were unable to make the following rounds because," Coin pauses and turns to the screen behind her, silently making her point. She turns back to us and with a hint of pride said, "however, from the time of the alarm, he was apprehended in five."
"Because of me!" Finnick exclaims, "Because I happened to be in that corridor at the right time. You failed to do your job to keep other people from getting hurt!"
"We appreciate your help in the matter, Finnick. I meant that one of our teams that was led by Gale acted quickly. He was the one who knew to send a squad to Katniss' block."
I look over to Gale, his gaze never leaving his clasped hands in his lap.
"Well, thank you Gale that pig shit fucker is dead," Johanna says, putting her feet down off the chair, ready to get up. "Now that that's done, we can sleep in tomorrow!"
Coin swallows hard and starts to pace again, making Johanna pause half way out of her chair.
"Wait, you said apprehended," I say shakily, "how do you apprehend a dead man?" I turn to Gale, watching his face. His mouth is hard and the muscles in his jaw clench.
"Luckily for us, we get to proceed accordingly with tomorrow's plans," Coin turns to the screen and waves her hand again, making the crime scene photos fade away which are then replaced by an image of a man in a hospital bed, attached to a variety of machines and tubes.