Chapter Three: Goodbye Days
Somehow, I convince Effie to take me to District 4 so I can see my mom. I stay with her for a while, taking the chance to visit Finnick and Annie and their newborn son – and, of course, his auntie Johanna.
Deep down, I know there's still a part of Finnick that thinks I blame him for Peeta's death, so I try to put it to rest before I go. It's not like Peeta's mind was in his control – it was barely within Peeta's. None of us, not even Peeta, could have expected that moment of clarity during the battle with the mutts. But he must have remembered how Finnick saved his life in the Quell, he must've remembered he had Annie waiting for him. That's how I've managed to rationalize his sudden sacrifice.
He was gallant to the end, too gallant for his own good. At least he got to die as himself, like he always wanted. And now he and Finnick are even.
It helps to see Finnick play silly games with his son, knowing Peeta gave him that. But my smile still fades when the child's laughter triggers something in my mind, like a dream, and I imagine the little boy with blond curls playing with Peeta in the Meadow. Maybe I'm there too, watching, even holding a baby sister we named after Prim.
I once wished for a world where Peeta's child would be safe. It's here now, a world without the Games, and maybe one day I could've given him this. The boy with the blond curls and the Seam eyes. Or another girl could if I wouldn't, but I hate this thought more than I ever hated Gale's hypothetical tribute partner or the girls he's probably kissing in District 2.
I only know that I mourn Peeta's children, even the fictional one that died in the Quell. I mourn the happy ending he deserved. So before I leave, I kiss the fuzzy red hair of the baby boy whose father he saved.
Maybe I overdo it a little when I hug Johanna goodbye. Although she returns it, she pulls away after a generous five seconds and searches my face with knowing eyes.
"You're not just leaving Four, are you…" she says, in a tone that adds more.
I shake my head. "I'll explain more in a letter," I promise.
"That is proper etiquette, I guess." She sighs, arms folded across her chest. "I don't suppose there's anything I can say or do to stop you…?"
"No. It's just something I have to do," I tell her, and offer a half-hearted shrug. "Who knows, if it's possible, maybe I'll come back someday."
Johanna looks baffled. "I mean, sure. If you believe that…"
A light goes on in my head, and I laugh. "Just wait for the letter."
When I hug my mother goodbye, though, I make it last. Because Johanna is basically right. Odds are, this portal could be a one-way trip. If I go through, I'm dead to the world. There is no coming back.
The next time Effie arranges to meet Haymitch, she meets up with me and we share a ride back to District 12. I try to subtly spend as much time with them both as I can without walking in on any more kisses. This is hard to do – the subtlety, not just the timing – and Haymitch eventually calls me out on it while we're alone.
"Alright, what are you up to, sweetheart?" he asks. "Months of hibernation after Peeta's death, and then you come back from your little Beetee trip and suddenly you're so…" I watch him dance around the word clingy. "…social. You're like a cat that's always underfoot."
I look up from the floor, swallowing as I search for my resolve. "I might be going away for a while," I say. "I don't know when I'll be back."
Haymitch studies me closely. "You don't know if you'll be back," he realizes, because even in the most bizarre of situations, the man knows me.
I keep my answers vague and my requests and instructions clear. He'll be looking after Buttercup and the house while I'm gone (begrudgingly, of course). I'm leaving the book in his care, too, since he helped make it. Lugging it around with me might not be feasible. I already thought of this, so I asked Beetee for a favor. Now copies of the pages will be saved in a small handheld device, if I ever want to look back. Only a few tangible photos are coming with me.
At home, packing is an ordeal. I'd planned to travel light, but Beetee advised me to prepare for anything. A winter coat for a blizzard, a wetsuit for a world of water. He's even considering getting me those night-vision sunglasses from my first Games, in case the world has gone dark.
"Feels like I'm going back into the arena," I say idly to Buttercup, who is hovering in the doorway. He's doing that cat thing where he wants to watch me but not from the same room. Since he's a stupid cat, and not Beetee, he has no idea what I'm talking about, so I turn and go back to my packing.
The mockingjay pin rests inside the opened silver parachute on my desk, waiting for judgment. I pick it up, hearing the pearl and spile roll and clink at the disturbance, and weigh it on my palm, unsure. I told Beetee I didn't want to be the Mockingjay anymore. But this is a symbol from my district. A district I am choosing to leave behind…
I sigh and let it drop back into the parachute, which I am taking with me. If anything, I want to keep it with me to remember Madge.
Peeta's medallion goes in there too. I've replaced Gale's picture with his since I cannot bear to have Gale next to Prim anymore. That's the last reminder I want to carry with me.
After stuffing in a few more supplies, I zip up my bag and head downstairs. Effie will be heading back home so she's escorting me to District 3 again on the way. I'm sure she's confused despite whatever Haymitch may have told her, but I have a letter written for her just as I have for everyone else. Despite her puzzlement, she'll want to leave on time, so I quicken my pace as I make for the front door, but a rusty meow startles me.
I look down, and there's Buttercup. Prowling, threading through my legs, leering up at me. It occurs to me suddenly that he's been making a lot of noise today. Like he knows I'm going somewhere. He keeps meowing, making short little noises that seem inquisitive and even demanding, though I know I've already fed him. I'm pretty sure he just wants to get in my way.
"What?" I ask him. "Oh, don't pretend like you're going to miss me."
He gives that helpless kitten mew, then continues circling me relentlessly, even starting up a rattly purr.
Disgusting, I think. Have some dignity. But I don't know which one of us I'm talking to as I lean down and pick him up.
I almost feel bad for the little beast. We're more alike than I care to admit, and while we can both survive without each other, we would not be better off. Besides my mother in District Four, we are each other's last living shred of Prim. I'm not sure I have it in me to take that away from him.
Holding him in my arms for once, rather than by the scruff, I look him in those muddy yellow eyes of his. "You would just end up eating Haymitch's geese while you were there, wouldn't you?" I accuse him.
He licks his chops, as if agreeing with me.
I like those geese. And Haymitch doesn't have to worry about vermin if Effie's been getting him to actually clean his place up once in a while, so there's no point in dumping Buttercup on him. I wouldn't wish this cat on my worst enemy, let alone Haymitch.
With a defeated sigh, I stuff him in my game bag for old time's sake. For better or for worse, Prim's ugly old cat is staying with me.
"If it turns out to be a world full of water, you might end up finally drowning after all," I warn him as I walk out the door.
Buttercup rumbles a low growl inside the bag. He's too stupid to know I'm bluffing.
The cat stays securely in the bag while we're inside Beetee's workshop, since I just know if he gets loose he'll bite something important and screw things up. Instead, he makes occasional muffled growls and yowls as Beetee and I make our final preparations. As promised, Beetee's managed to compress a few things (coat, clothes, food, arrows, medical kit) so that they fit in my one pack, because that's all I'm carrying besides my bow and game bag.
"Makes you feel like you're going into another arena, doesn't it?" Beetee says with a wry smile, watching me slip the night vision sunglasses into a pocket.
I shake the pack to make the glasses settle in deeper before pulling the zipper. "It's all of the Cornucopia with none of the Bloodbath."
He chuckles and turns back to his screen, tapping and clicking at the program until with a small lift of his glasses he looks satisfied. "Alright. We should be good to go."
After one more tap, the portal starts up with an ethereal shimmer. A soft whirring sound signals the rising of the protective glass and it finally hits me that I'm meant to step into that energy. I take a deep breath and sling the pack on over my shoulders, silently reminding myself that I've faced worse. To go into the unknown is better than to go on decaying in District 12.
Beetee attaches the tiny camera to my shirt and shows me how to turn it on and off. It's a little thing, but in case my microphone and earpiece don't work, he just wants to make sure I've made it over okay. Besides that, he's interested to know what it's like wherever I show up. I can tell he's excited about this, and I feel sort of guilty for initially hoping the thing might just obliterate me from existence.
Once I'm set and secured, squirming game bag in hand, I approach the portal and take one last look at Beetee. "Any final words of advice for me before I go in?"
"Hm," says Beetee, fidgeting. He's even more nervous than I am. "I guess that is the kind of thing a mentor would do." He tilts his head at me. "What would Haymitch usually say in this situation?"
There's no doubt what he would say if he were here. I can hear him in my head as if I'm already wearing the earpiece.
"Stay alive," I murmur.
Beetee laughs. "Yes. Please try to do just that," he says, tapping at the keyboard. Then he sobers, straightens his glasses, and looks up at me. "Good luck, Katniss."
I nod at him. "Thank you," I say, and trust that he understands the double-meaning.
Then I step onto the metal plate, turn, and watch the glass case descend before the energy engulfs me.
The only way I can describe what I feel when I travel through the energy of the portal is that it's like if I were to touch District 12's activated electric fence while under the effects of a heavy dose of morphling. Or perhaps it's more like a strong case of pins and needles, pricking the entire makeup of my body. Or I am awash in seafoam, but the waves come from an ocean of colorful matter.
The sensation doesn't last long enough for me to pinpoint. Suddenly the waves recede, like a forcefield rippling in resistance, and the world opens up. My body jolts as if at the impact of a dream fall. Then all I see is white. So bright, so vast it's almost blinding. I have to blink to adjust my eyes to the light.
A blinding light at the end of a portal, but I am not dead. I am too cold to be dead.
Finally my vision settles enough to take in the wide expanse of snow that lies before me. I inhale sharply, sucking in a lungful of frosty air, and let it out slowly in a puff of mist.
Not a tundra, because I see trees on the horizon. But a land of ice and snow, a world of frozen winter white.
What a place for a girl on fire.