I do not own anything, just my ideas.
Chapter 49
TRIS
I pass an old man with a small flower in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He stands in front of a small grave, and he brings the cigarette to his mouth and breathes in the tobacco. I recognize the look in his eyes. He exhales the smoke hoping to lose the demons that dance in his head.
Being around all these tombstones brings out different people, but it is always the same end result: the loss of a life. Some people like to live in a fantasy that of being out of reach of death's grasp, but people like the old man and I know the truth. People die—that is just a small side effect of living. Coming here always makes me feel different, as if there is an unknown, dark promise that one day the rest of us will be in the same place. When did the future switch from being a promise to being a threat?
I leave him to find his peace and travel to the grave of Natalie Prior. In my own hands, I hold flowers with a piece of paper and a small bag filled with two cups, a bottle of water, a lemon slice, and a few books. Once I reach her grave, I place the flowers and note next to her grave and take a seat. I set out the cups and fill them both with water.
The day was sunny, but clouds created a gray overcast later in the afternoon. My mother always said that a little bit of sunshine can be made with a small touch of lemon. So I squeeze some lemon juice in both cups so we can drink some sunshine together.
I play with my mother's ring at the end of my necklace.
"I know that telling you that you're right is pointless because you already know that. And maybe you already know the truth and have come to peace with it, but I am not. I don't think I ever will be. I just thought that coming here would…" I sigh, "Nothing. There… There really isn't anyone to really talk to. Sure I have Tobias, and I tell him everything, and Tori is always there and Christina but… They aren't my mom. No one can understand me the way you always did. Talking to you always made sense of a situation.
"I brought some books with me. You must remember this one."
I pull out the set of books I brought. A classic fairy tale, an old childhood book, and our favorite chapter book lay on the ground. First, I grad Bridge to Terabithia. I turn to the "Rulers of Terabithia" chapter and begin to read. When I am finished, I skip through the book, hitting some of my favorite parts and read "Building the Bridge".
Occasionally, I stop to say something that I find important about the characters. I quickly skip over the end of the "Easter" chapter. Even in elementary school, I was not fond of the characters' discussion about dying. Their words still creep into my memory, reminding me of the unanswered questions that will remain in the hands of faith and fate until death. Towards the end, I point out where I would always cry, claiming that I won't this time, but turn on my word when I do come to the sad ending.
When I finish Bridge, I pull Love You Forever from the stack. I can still remember the tune of the song my mother sang while reading it.
But at night time, when that teenager was asleep, the mother opened the door to the room, crawled across the floor and looked up over the side of the bed. If he was really asleep she picked up that great big teenage boy and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. While she rocked him she sang:
I'll love you forever.
I'll like you for always.
As long as I am living, my baby you'll be.
After I finish the old story, I bring out Sleeping Beauty and read the story aloud, sipping some sunshine water in-between pages. When I finish, I look up at the sky then stare at her grave.
"Remember when you told me that fairy tales were important? You said it was not because they tell us dragons exist, but because they tell us dragons can be defeated… I—I promise your cause will not die with you. I won't let them get away with it. And when I am done, they will finally understand why storms are named after people."
The flowers next to her grave glow in the summer sun. It is a sad, beautiful scene. But I have come to realize that destruction arises right when there is peace.
I dig my hand into my pocket. "I have one of your last letters with me."
I pull out the single paper wrapped up in an envelope
Dear Beatrice,
Today, you came home with a big cut on your arm and a bruised eye. You walked in the door with bright eyes. They did not plead for forgiveness or even approval. You walked in, grabbed your apple slices, and sat on the counter stool. After a few minutes of silence as you ate, you finally said, "No one stopped me."
After another few minutes, you told me that some of your friends at school were picking on another kid. You stood up for the kid, but it was long awaited, and your friends did not take it well. They began to spread nasty words about you and purposely go out of their way to poke you or run into you or push your stuff out of your hands. (Truly, I had no idea the first grade was so vicious.) You saw them picking on another kid and, instead of standing up when they were being mean to you, you stood up for the other kid they were picking on.
Later I came to realized that you were willing to stand up for someone else, but not for yourself. I began to notice that you time after time you put others happiness and well-being before your own. I am so happy I am raising such a caring, selfless girl, but I must stress the importance of taking care of yourself. Not in the way that becomes your undoing in vain. The best way to take care of yourself is to love, and be willing to receive love.
Love comes to those who still hope after disappointment, who still believe after betrayal, and who still live after they've been hurt. I believe that you can take whatever life throws at you and run with it. You deserve all the happiness in the world, but only if you allow yourself the luxury of that happiness.
Love,
Mother
I bend down to the flowers sitting on her grave and grab the piece of paper.
"This is it. I didn't realize that this piece of the puzzle was just staring at me until a few days ago. When Christopher Romano had Marissa give me the letter, he wrote a mailing address in the top corner. Except it was an address I had not recognized. I googled it and it… I think it is where you died."
I feel real tears beginning to form. "I thought coming here would make it easier, but I don't think it will. Please give me the strength. I know I can do this. I should be afraid, but I am not. They do not scare me. What I may discover frightens me, but those people do not scare me. I know you are watching me, and maybe I am lucky enough to have another powerful force watch over me, too. I am a storm, and they will hear me boom."
It is a dirty place, and it makes me want to throw up.
I am one block away from my destination, and my stomach turns with every step I take. Just one foot in front of the other, I tell myself. I turn the last corner and see the ally.
I know without being told that this is it. It has to be.
I collapse to the ground, an intangible weight pulling on my shoulders and dragging me down. And it has finally won. Silent tears fall because I am not strong enough. I try to hide them so no one can see them. But they must be seen because they say all there is to say. The first scars never fade away.
I trace a finger on the dark pavement where she died, where she really died.
I get this feeling in my heart. It travels through my veins and across my body. I am buzzing with an energy that is only meant for destruction. For this moment, I forget about everything but what happened in this ally.
An innocent, selfless life was taken out of greed and self-preservation. I will do whatever it takes to absolutely destroy them. But I cannot allow myself to be my undoing. No, I will plan this. I will do as I promised my mother and make them understand why storms are named after people.
I knock on the door of apartment G206. There is rustling on the other side, the sound of locks turning, then a face appears in the door frame.
I did not know what I planned to expect when I made the decision to come here. The person before me has wild brown curls with freckles on her perfectly kept face. There is an ugly burn on her arm that slightly peeks out from under her long sleeve shirt.
"Can I help you?" Miranda Galman, the women in the door frame, asks me.
"Sort of," I reply. Handing her a piece of paper. "But it is sensitive. It's about a story that you were writing."
The reporter with her wild curls focuses her eyes on me, looking me up and down. She eyes my bag full of papers and opens the small note I handed her. She must come to a realization, because her eyes get big then small. "You must be thirsty. Why don't you come in and have a drink of water?"
I walk into the small apartment and immediately see the mess on the table. A computer, notepads with scribbled notes, and empty cups of coffee lay scattered on the table.
"Excuse the mess; I'm in the middle of a story. But you are here for a different one... One that I never finished."
"Yes." I look at the note I handed to her that lays open on the counter. It says, Kavolo. "My name is Tris Prior, and I—"
"Prior, as in…"
"Yes. She was my mother. She's the reason I am here."
"I am sorry for what happened, but I do not know if I can offer much help."
"You were writing a story about Kavolo, how he had changed and… I have some answers on my own, but I have a feeling you can give me what I don't have."
She does not answer me. She goes to grab a glass to pour a glass of water. Her eyes are circled with ghost of the past. "That story got ripped out of my hands just when I thought I was catching a break. It is a dangerous road to travel down."
"I know."
"I do not think I can help you."
"Please." I hold her eyes with my own and beg. This is beyond me, beyond my mother.
"There is something, but I could never connect it with anything."
"Show me."
She goes to the wall that is completely taken over by books and baskets. She grabs a file holder and pulls out a packet.
"This is a list of drug orders. There is a code for the dealer and the profit from the specific location. Every once in a while there is a hit; you can tell because the amount is a lot different and the number only appears once. All the money looks to go to one big off-shore account."
I look at the account number: 53110868825.
I know that fate is not on my side. In fact, a lot of things are going against me.
I also know that I am no longer afraid. I am not afraid to say something, and I am not afraid to love, and I am not afraid of the places I have to and will go. I am not afraid because I know it will hurt. The pain does not scare me; I'm too used to the feeling of it. It's gonna hurt. It's gonna hurt because it matters. And that is why I have to do it. I have been suffering for too long, and too much has happened for me to let this farcical, horrible injustice continue.
"Hey Tris," Zane says. "David is looking for you."
Earlier this week, David asked me to attend another public speaking event at a local park. I don't know when I made this decision, but I am going to confront him today. My heart aches just thinking about it. I already know the answers, but he needs to confirm them. And if they are true…
I can feel the anxiety building and the betrayal rising up like bile. Of course I could be completely wrong. I could be a stupid chicken running around with its head cut off. But I know I am not wrong. I know the files I are not wrong.
"Again?" Caroline asks me.
It is already dark outside, and Caroline, Zane, and Matthew are all packed up and ready to head back to the apartment. My workspace is cluttered, and I am in no condition to leave just yet.
"Are you seriously going to stay late again? This has to be the third day in a row. What are you doing that is taking so much time?"
"I don't know. But don't wait up for me. I'll be done soon."
"Whatever you say," she says as she leads the others out the door. Matthew waits a second, staring me down. Ever since that day in my apartment, he has been paying a little too close attention to me. I feel his eyes on my and the work on my desk, but he leaves.
Now that they are gone, and most of the office as well, I reach under the desk and retrieve the key I made earlier to David's office. It is a good thing I am small and an intern because no one pays that much attention to me going around the place. Nobody noticed me swipe the janitor's key to make the copy.
When I decide the coast is clear, I grab a file that I "need to give David" and walk to his office. Locked doors used to scare me. They felt unreachable, and they were that way for a reason. They held secrets, and secrets were not meant to get out. I used to think secrets were meant to stay hidden, but they never do. At first, it may be easy. A small lie that you tell others and try to tell yourself, and for a second you even believe. Lies are dark, and they will spread. The only way to make things right is for the truth.
I place the key into the hole and hear the click. The door opens. I check around me again to make sure no one can see me, and I walk into his office. I go to his desk and begin to search for something that will tell me something about that night.
What if this truth is not enough? What if there is more? Because sometimes the truth isn't good enough. I can't let myself believe that this is how it would be for now. All I want is to know that truth about my mother. Even… even if justice is not served, I just need to know…
There. I find a file. The only reason I know it is important is because I recognize a back account number. And the file is hidden away under the desk.
I hear noise coming from down the hall and decide it is good enough and rush out of the office.
With the dark of night to hide my endeavors, a ten digit number surfaced from the labyrinth of codes and digits and large words. The only reason I recognized it is because in the middle, the numbers read were 10868, and January 8, 1968 is my father's birthday. And it's the bank account on the folder Miranda gave me. When I compared the two account numbers, they were identical.
The folder that I took from David's office contained bank accounts. Accounts used to fund the campaign.
And that off-shore account, the money Kavolo makes from the drugs, funds David's election.
That has to mean one thing…
"Tris," David calls out. "The car is here. Are you ready?"
"Umm," I grab my bag of papers, swallow the words I wish to scream at him, but save them for another time, and walk towards him. "Yup. Just needed to grab a few things."
"There is not much that you need to bring."
"For me, there is."
"It will just add more to what you will have to carry around."
"I already carry enough to know that this is not much to hold." I stare into his eyes. Ever since I discovered the account a few days ago, I have searched him, mostly his eyes, for little glimpses of the truth. But he averts them from me. Simply, that is all the proof I need.
"Well, we should be leaving. Matthew, pick it up. You are coming too."
"Matthew," I blurt out without thinking.
"Is there something wrong?" Matthew says when he is next to me.
"No. Nothing's wrong."
"Then let's go."
We walk out with a surprisingly small group of people, one being his phone-crazed assistant. The sky has gotten increasingly darker since the morning. The storm that grows inside of me has made its way outside. The group loads into a large car, and it lurches forward to our destination. The ride is mostly filled with the soft hum of the radio and AC and David's assistant explaining what will be happening. All I process is how I will manage to get David alone. If I have any chance of confronting him, now would be the time. There is only a week left in the internship program, and I have waited long enough for answers from him.
I press my bag closer to me. The bag that contains the files that prove David's connection to Kavolo. It takes all my strength to hold on to my sanity and not throw myself on David to claw his eyes out and make him bleed the blood that others have loss from his selfishness.
Rain begins to fall on the window that I sit next to. I stare at the drops to distract me. They begin to fall harder and harder, but I think it looks more beautiful than anything else. It makes the city look dull and grey, but I don't mind. It sends small shimmers of relaxation through me. It brings a simple, unidentifiable peace in me. And with the storm around me and inside me growing and the situation and people hovering over me, it makes me question...
Bump
The car serves some, and it brings me back to the reality of my situation. The car swerves again, and this time my papers fly away from me a little bit. Matthew, who sits next to me, reaches to grab my files.
"No!" I blurt as Matthew looks at some of the papers. "I mean… Those are mine. I'll get them."
David turns to look at us, but he puts his attention on Matthew. They share some kind of moment, and David turns his attention to me.
"Tris, you seem on edge. Is there something on your mind?"
He stares at me with snake eyes. Eyes that are so persuasive, they convinced Eve to eat the apple. They will lure you in, make you trust them, even though your instincts tell you otherwise, and then right when you aren't looking, the snake will kill you. He looks me up and down, and a look that seems familiar plays across his face. His eyes even plea for me to tell him.
How absorbed!? After weeks of a limbo, questioning and having to mingle with this man who knew the truth and knew about my mother and… and…
This is it. Whether my instincts tell me otherwise or a part of me that is smart and savvy urges me to stop, I stare at him. I allow the anger boil over and spread to my eyes. I can not remember the last time I felt so angry, so desperate. It is a different feeling than the one I feel towards the men in my family. And even Peter. After years of experiencing that pain and living with the burden, I refuse to allow myself the unfortunate asset of letting others not only walk over me, but do wrong to others.
He wants to know what is on my mind? Well, he is about to walk into a storm.
In a silent, deadly tone, I say, "You know what."
We continue in a stand-still for an amount of time I am unaware of. If it weren't for the sound of the car's AC and the rain on the car, I would think time was still.
And he does know what I am talking about, because as my words sink into him, his demeanor changes. The eyes darken. They go from exhausted, to sad, to angry. And I know… I know that everything is true. He doesn't have to tell me. It should feel like victory, but it is not.
David turns to Matthew. His voice raises to a yell. "I told you to handle it."
Matthew catches his breath—not in fear, but in annoyance like he takes no fault for what David accuses him of. "I tried. You didn't give me much leeway to go with. And there certainly isn't nothing to be done right now."
David looks at the people in the car, like he is double checking. He gives Matthew a nod. "Yes you can."
One of Matthew's hands grabs my wrists and fling them back. The other hand comes around my throat. "You couldn't just let things be, could you?"
I am too much in shock to respond. But then I gain my strength. I pull my arms back, catching the side of Matthew's head in their descent. I slam into the arm that grips my neck, and his hands release me. I lunge towards David. In a car with not many options, especially no options for my gain, I go for the jugular. In an unplanned and not thought out plan, I try to inflict some kind of pain on David. But nothing I can do could ever compare to the pain he truly deserves.
I claw at his face. My eyes and judgment are blinded with hurt and anger. It only lasts a second because Matthew pulls me back. I continue to scream at him.
"Tell me it isn't true, you bastard! Look me in the eye, you selfish excuse for a human being!"
Matthew brings his hand around my mouth and grips my body. It hurts, and it causes me to stop. But the adrenaline is already coursing through me.
David's assistant speaks up, "I told you it was a bad idea, letting that girl so close. You should have let North taken care of her..."
Someone speaks up, "You really shouldn't… At least, not before the rally."
"Forget the rally. This is more important and you know that," David yells.
A silence takes the car. It lasts more than it should, and after a few minutes of driving and rain falling harder, David looks at me again.
"You are so much like her—"
"Shut up. Do not mention her like you were friends. Like you didn't betray her."
"She made her choices, and if you ask me..."
The car swerves again, the wind outside gets stronger. I assume David has more to say, but I ignore him. I silently curse myself for how terrible this situation is turning out. In this moment, I realize the consequences. Fear does not creep into my cracks, but anxiety. I stare ahead at the storm that grows with each passing second. It takes me a moment as we enter the outskirts of the city for me to realize what is ahead of us.
"Pull over," I say.
"What?"
"We have to get off the road! Look!" They follow my gaze out the window and see what I see.
A tornado.
Author's Note
I do not own the books that I mentioned in this chapter. This is Part One of the two part Kavolo ending. This does not mean the story is coming to an end, but this part of the story is coming to a close. Part two should be coming sooner rather than later because I have already written a good part of it already. But the holidays and my first set of college finals are approaching.
Who else is excited about Mockingjay Part 1!? I am so excited! I have even recruited the people on my floor in my res hall to go with me. I have a pretty good idea of where I think it will split. But, to make sure I do not spoil it for those who haven't read it (shame on you!), I think they will split it on page 177 between Chapter 12 and Chapter 13… Right at the end of Chapter 12. Who else thinks that is where it will happen? Stay safe and sound! Please review!
Be brave, everyone!
AND… Shoot straight!
QUOTES
1). "We should just love, but not fall in love. Because things the fall break." –Taylor Swift, person
2). "She's not pretty. That's too small of a word. She is small but strong, and her bright eyes demand attention. Looking at her is like waking up." –Four, book
3). "She shines around the darkest corners of my day." –Stargirl, book
4). "The question may be complicated, but the answer is sometimes simple." –The Lucky One, film
5). "Love is special because it is the closest thing to magic we have." –Aquamarine, film
6). "Sometimes people are pretty not in looks, not in what they say, but just in the way they are." –The Book Thief, book
Congratulations : triseat0n, Lucy, BlackCherry-SugarPlum, and taytay1441.
The quotes (4) in this chapter are from a person, a song, a person, and a book.
