Chapter 29
Katniss
On my knees in the middle of the floor of the studio sobs rack my body. I have been abducted. Abducted and placed in a…zoo. It looks like home but when you look very closely you can see it's just a facsimile. I begin to feel as if the walls are closing in on me. My thoughts got to Peeta, he must know by now that I'm missing, he will be frantic, I would be in his shoes. I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing. They are in the Capitol and will have the resources to try and find me. I'm not alone, not completely. This helps, even if only a little. I work to calm my breathing. I need to make a plan and panic has a way of making that difficult. I know that my team in the Capitol is doing everything they can to find me, but I need to do my part to escape too. Clearly Carson is deranged, and he must have significate resources to replicate victor's village in such detail. I shiver at the thought. How did he get such detail? He knew what shirt I gave Peeta as a gift! I always wondered if the houses were bugged, I guess that is a proven suspicion. I take a deep breath and try focus. I can't get hung up on the creep factor. I can't get out through the windows or doors, at least not easily. I need to get outside and to do that I need to get Carson to trust me. My whole-body shivers at the thought. He believes himself to be Peeta, and he clearly wants me to play my part in his delusion. The very consideration makes me nauseous. I don't know what he thinks my relationship with Peeta and that is more than concerning. "Peeta," I cry, desperate for his calming presence.
Downstairs the front door squeaks as it opens. Time's up. I scramble to my feet and scrub my eyes with the heels of my hands to erasing the evidence of tears. It's showtime, I think, swallowing thickly. I'm a terrible actress according to Haymitch, let's hope Carson isn't a thespian Pulling myself up to my full height, I make my way down the stairs.
I find Carson in the kitchen slicing bread. I stand staring at him for a moment, taking a second to steel myself. With a deep breath, I walk over to the refrigerator. "How's life in town?" I ask taking out eggs and milk.
"Fine. Picked up some groceries and the art supplies I ordered," he says pointing the knife at a bag on the counter. "I thought you were going to make breakfast," he adds.
"I figured I'd wait for you so it wasn't cold," I deflect taking the sliced bread. "French toast?" I ask.
He nods and moves to start unpacking the bag on the counter. I look over at where he had been cutting bread but do not see the knife. As to seem as if I'm actually trying to make breakfast, I grab a bowl from the hutch next to the stove and move quickly to the drawer where we keep the whisk and other knives. I hold my breath in anticipation as I pull the drawer open but only find whisks and wooden spoons inside. A groan claws up the back of my throat, but I swallow it back.
Breaking a few eggs into the bowl, I douse them with some milk and begin whisking as I let my eyes comb the kitchen for anything that can serve as a weapon. There is nothing. The knife block is gone, along with the meat tenderizer that usually lives in the jar of kitchen utensils on the stove. Even the cast iron skillets that usually hang from a pot rack above the island have been replaced with lighter tin versions. Pulling one down, I weight it in my hand, it's not heavy enough to knock him out. Putting it on the stove, I drop some butter in and start a piece of French toast browning, all the while watching Carson move around the kitchen out the corner of my eye.
"Hand me the knife, I'll cut some more bread," I say, trying to sound casual.
"I'll do it," he says putting a sack of flour down on the counter.
"Don't be silly, you can keep putting things away, I can do it," I say, flipping the bread over in the pan.
He stops what he's doing and turns to me. "I don't think that's a good idea, after everything that's happened in the last few days. The doctor said you might be unpredictable so I'll be in charge of sharp implements," he says with a lazy smile that makes my skin crawl.
"I'm not homicidal," I say, trying on a smirk.
Carson crosses over to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Of course, not darling, I'm just following doctors' orders," he coos.
Bile rises up and coats my tongue. I paint on a placid smile and nod. "Okay…um, I think I need two more slices. It depends how hungry you are."
"Better make it three, I'm starving," he smiles.
I go back to tending the pan but keep my eyes on him. From a drawer, at the end of the counter, I watch as he places his thumb on the flat part of the handle. After a second he pulls the drawer open and removes the knife he was using earlier. Biomechanical lock, DAMN IT! ; I consider trying to overpower him for the weapon but realize the futilely of the endeavor. He's just too big for me to overpower. This will be a game of wit, not power.
Breakfast made, I place the plate of semi-overdone French Toast on the table and hesitantly take a seat. Having discovered the truth about this place I don't feel I can trust anything, but I also can't ignore the growl of hunger in my stomach. If I plan to get out of here, I will need to eat to keep my strength up. I take a piece of bread from the platter and tear a piece off with my fingers and cautiously put it in my mouth. Carson slides a fork across the table and smirks. "Starving?" he asks, gesturing at the food I'm manhandling. I put the bread down and take the fork, plastic.
"What is the plan for the day?" I ask casually.
"I thought we'd watch some tv, maybe play a game. Doc says we should keep it low key for a few days. You should nap too," he says, shoving a bottle of syrup my way. The French toast is bland, but I'm not going to take a chance on something I didn't prepare myself.
I could go hunting for some meat for dinner," I suggest, poking at my breakfast.
Carson raises an eyebrow. "That isn't keeping it low key," he says around a mouth full of food.
I laugh, "Being in the woods is my peace," I rebut.
He looks at me for a long time. "How about we just work in the garden. I don't want you out alone just yet. What if you pass out and I'm not around to help you?"
I sigh. He's not letting me out of his sight, at least not yet. "The garden beat's reruns any day," I return.
Getting up he clears my now empty plate, "I think we have some tomatoes and herbs that are ready to harvest. I'll make pasta for dinner."
"We should invite Sae for dinner," I offer, wondering how he will handle such a suggestion.
Dumping the dishes into the sink he turns his back to me. "She's in 13, visiting with a friend she made there," he says casually.
I have to hold back a snort at the lie. Sae hated thirteen and didn't make a secret about her feelings. She was the first person to come back to twelve at the end of the war. I take a dish towel from where it hangs on the stove handle and take up drying the plates he's washed. "I miss this," I say, hating every word but I also know that I need to make him believe I buy the illusion. Carson smiles and nods. It's nice to be home," he agrees, emptying the sink.
I dry my hands and go about putting the dishes away as Carson goes to the back door. Once again I see him place his thumb to a small plate. In my panic earlier I must've missed it. Pulling the door open, sunlight streams into the kitchen, catching the dust moats as the dance. Carson grins widely and gestures for me to proceed him onto the back porch. I cautiously step outside and take a quick assessment of the area. Like the inside of the house, the porch is a replica of Peeta's house, down to the collection of wind chimes strung along the banisters. Stepping up to one he was giving by Miles, the oldest victor in District 6 while we were on tour, I run my figures over the stone sail giving it a push. The Clabber strikes the ceramic tubes and a melancholy melody rings out. I can barely hide the astonishment at the detail Carson as taken to make me believe this is Peeta's home. "I remember when you got this one," I say over my shoulder.
Carson steps up behind me and also gently flicks the sail. "Yes, me too. It's to bad that Miles didn't make it to the end of the war," he says. The words are right, they are something Peeta would say, but this inflection is off. I turn and head for the grass, needing to put distance between us. The thought of how much time must have been put into studying Peeta so that he knows the story behind an inconsequential windchime reeves up my heart. I want to run. My leg muscles twitch aching to take off, but with Carson, right on my heels, I don't think I'd make it very far.
I make my way around the house to the garden and feel my eyes tear up. It's all here, our vegetables, our herbs, Peeta's primroses. I sink to my knees as tears prick at my eyes. My fingertips reach for the bloom but before they touch the blossom, I yank my hand away. These aren't Peeta's primroses, these are an illusion.
"Something wrong?" Carson asks.
I shake my head, "No, I….I just thought I saw a bee," I lie.
A hand rests on my shoulder, "Don't worry, I'll protect you," he says.
The person who protects me, he's is going to hurt you when he finds you, I think, my mind flashing with images of Peeta beating the crap of Carson. This brings a wry smile to my face.
"Grab those tomatoes," he instructs, pulling me from my daydream.
I shake my head to clear it and move over next to the tomatoes. "How many?" I ask, glancing over at him. He's picking basil leaves and putting them in a basket.
"I think five or six would do," he says.
I make quick work of plucking six tomatoes from the plants and rest back on my heels. I take a quick inventory of the outside of the house. Like everything else, it an exact replica. Exact replica…. my mind spins around and around, but on what feels like the 300 hundredth revolution a new thought clicks. At home there is a large tree that has grown over the roof, Peeta is planning on having it cut back in the fall, it's covering the wooden dormer vent. If this is a replica, is there access to the attic from inside this house? I chew on my bottom lip as a plan begins to form.
"Nice afternoon isn't it?" Carson asks.
I glance over at him and nod, before laying down in the grass my mind spinning. I need to see the front of the house. "The sun is so nice," I mumble. I feel him settle down next to me and look up at him. "We should get a blanket and a book and relax under the tree out front," I suggest nonchalantly.
He smiles down at me, "Sounds good. Let's bring the veggies in and you can pick the book," he suggests.
I feel my heart speed up. Sitting up, I grab the tomatoes and head for the porch. I glance back to see if I've outmaneuvered Carson but he's right on my heels as usual. Inside I dump the tomatoes on the island and dash up the stairs, "I'll grab a blanket," I yell as I take two steps at a time. Pushing into the spare room, I go straight to the closet and lookup. I want to cheer when I spot the attic access in the ceiling at the back of the walk-in. When I hear footfalls on the steps, I quickly but silently close the door and gather up the blanket off the bed. Flying out of the bedroom, I pretend to be surprised by his presence in the hall. "Oh," exclaim a hand covering my heart. "Peeta you startled me," I stammer.
"Sorry…" he says, looking into the room beyond me. "I thought I'd carry this for you," he offers distractedly.
I give a playful shove to his shoulder, "I can handle getting blanket," I tease, "but that's nice of you," I add, raising up to peck him on the cheek. My lips on his skin causes vomit to rise up my throat, but I swallow it back and force a smile onto my lips. Seeing as I have a proven track record for not being able to fake a relationship, I can only hope that he's crazy enough to believe my lovey-dovey act. I caution a look up at him through my lashes, my breath catching in my chest in fear. When a wide smile cracks his face, I let out a sigh in relief. b
"What kind of book are you thinking," I ask, taking his hand and pulling him along with me down the stairs and to the library.
He takes the blanket from me. "You pick," he says.
I saunter up to the bookcase and pretend to deliberate. I grab a volume blindly and look down. Poetry. Peeta hates poetry. He told me once that he thinks it's elitist, snobbish, stuck-up, and meant to exclude people. It's perfect. I spin around and show the book to my captor. He squints down at the title and nods so I hand it to him. "You've got a perfect reading voice," I state and march out of the room. He follows but passes me to beat me to the front door. Like the back door, he places a thumb to a plate on the handle before pulling the door open. I pretend to be paging through the book when he looks over at me. "After you," he says, gesturing out the door.
We make our way over to the apple tree in the front lawn and he makes quick work of spreading the quilt on to the ground. Standing behind him as he works to smooth the blanket out my mind flashes images of a similar scene. I blink as my brain spins. I had lunch under a tree with Peeta, next to a creek, I think, but the memory is fuzzy.
Are you going to sit?" Carson asks, pulling me back to reality.
I distractedly sink down on to the blanket next to him and hand him the book.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
I shake my head and look over at him, "Yeah, fine," I say leaning back on my elbows. "Let's hear it Mellark," I say, nodding at the book.
Carson gives me a creepy smile at me then leans down. My pulse begins racing when I realize he's going to kiss me. I think I started this with the peck on the cheek but I didn't he'd move forward so quickly. I want to run, but before I can deflect his intentions his lips are against mine. My skin crawls. I pull away, giving him a small shove that I hope comes off as playful. "Peeta!" I exclaim and look around for onlookers.
"Sorry, you just looked so beautiful I couldn't help myself," he coos.
I look coyly away. "Thank you, but…you know how I feel about public displays," I stammer.
He cups my cheek. "We're out here alone," he says like that's a comfort. All it does is make me feel desperate to run from him but instead, I calm my breathing and offer him a small nod.
"Read to me," I say, gesturing to the book.
He settles against the tree and flips open the cover. As he read some non-sense poem, I let my eyes go to the roof of the house tears threaten to well in my eyes but I blink them away, now is not a time for tears; now is the time to plan my escape.