The train station is small and packed full of people. It is difficult to move without bumping into someone, and I'm beginning to feel claustrophobic. I end up losing Peeta in the crowd.
"Isn't that Peeta Mellark, the baker's boy?" a man shouts from somewhere in the crowd.
Several people surround him almost immediately. "Weren't you supposed to be executed for killing that poor girl?"
Peeta holds up his hands defensively as he tries to explain himself. "My last request was to see the trains one more time." The lie earns him a few nods of approval.
I shove my way through the mass of people until I'm standing by his side. Everyone recognizes me as the girl who became an executioner when she was only sixteen. Needless to say, I'm not very well liked in the community. "Back off. He's with me."
"Shoot him through the heart," people chant as we walk by.
All of the commotion seems to be having a negative effect on Peeta. His shoulders are sagging, and there are tears in his eyes. It's understandable that he would be upset. He is very charismatic, and people used to enjoy his company. Now, everyone wants him to die for a crime he didn't commit. That must be hard on him.
"Ignore them," I whisper into his ear.
He wipes the tears away and sighs sadly. "Everyone hates me. Even if you can prove my innocence, no one will look at me the same way ever again."
That's true. People will always see him as the boy who didn't save Madge. He won't be viewed as a murder anymore, but things will never go back to the way they used to be.
"It doesn't matter what they think. I like you." He is nice to me. It is rare for someone to treat me with such kindness. Everyone else sees me as just an executioner, not a human being. It's ironic that the one I'm supposed to kill is the only person who has shown me any compassion since I took this job.
Peeta takes this opportunity to tease me. "My heart is yours. You stole it with one of your arrows."
I lightly slug his arm. "You better sleep with one eye open. I might really take it someday."
He laughs and leads me toward the only train in the station. "How do we find this Gale person?"
I look through the windows at the passengers inside. It should be easy to spot him. Not many people from the Seam can afford to travel.
"There!" I point to a man not far from us. He is moving nervously through the crowd, as if expecting someone to jump out at him. We run over to greet him.
"Oh... It's nice to see you, Catnip," he says with a smile. "And you brought a convict."
I knew that voice sounded familiar. "You alerted the crowd that Peeta was here." I'm overcome with rage for my co-worker. "Why did you put him through that?"
Gale's face darkens. "He's a criminal, a murderer. Your job is to put an end to this scumbag."
"Speaking of jobs, why did you skip work today?" The words are barely out of my mouth when someone pushes me to the ground. Gale escapes in the confusion.
Peeta kneels down to help me to my feet. "Are you alright?"
I disregard his question in favor of searching for Gale. Where did he go? My eyes dart in every direction until I see him getting on the train.
He pokes his head out of the open window. "I have business elsewhere. Cover for me until I get back!"
The train takes off before I can reach it. I make my way to the nearest ticket booth. "Excuse me, where is that train headed?"
The lady behind the counter hands me a paper schedule. "District 2. Next train bound for that destination doesn't leave until tomorrow."
Why the hell is Gale going to District 2? He doesn't know anyone there, and he isn't using any of his vacation days to go sightseeing. It's almost as if he made a split-second decision to leave District 12.
"Katniss, that was him," Peeta says. "That was the man in the bakery with Madge."
He just confirmed what Delly said earlier. Gale had followed Madge into the bakery, and the two of them were alone when Peeta went into the kitchen. "That still isn't enough to prove he did anything. Do you remember anything else about that day?"
"Darius bought a loaf of pumpkin bread and was lingering outside for awhile."
Is Darius somehow involved in the murder? What exactly is going on here? "Something about this whole situation bothers me. Gale and Darius were both outside for a period of time. Do you know if they were together?"
"I'm not sure," he replies with a shrug. "I was working."
"Who was the first peacekeeper on the scene?" There are only a few people it could possibly be, and I want to know if my suspicions are correct.
Peeta crosses his arms as he thinks it over. "The new head peacekeeper, Romulus Thread."
I knew it. Thread and the mayor haven't gotten along since the day they met. Did he kill Madge in order to hurt Mayor Undersee? "We have a number of suspects, but no leads. How long were you in the kitchen?"
"About twenty minutes. The bakery was pretty empty with just Madge and Gale inside. They were both looking at the cakes when I left," he tells me.
Twenty minutes is more than enough time for a professional to kill someone. It only takes me a minute or two to execute a criminal. "That doesn't rule anyone out. All three of our suspects were most likely armed. Darius and Thread are peacekeepers, and Gale is an executioner."
My head feels like it's going to explode. Who is the real murderer? If I can't find out soon, then Peeta will die.
"What day is my execution scheduled for?"
The question catches me off guard. "Three days from now. That would be Saturday."
He takes my hand in his and smiles. "I want to spend some time with you. There's nothing else we can do right now, anyway. We can't confront either of the two peacekeepers until they get off work."
With no other leads and time running out, the best thing to do is to make sure his last few days are pleasant. "Okay. What do you want to do?"
Peeta takes me to a nearby park, where we sit in a field of flowers. He picks one and tucks it behind my ear. "The flower pales in comparison to your beauty."
The compliment makes me blush. I've never once considered myself beautiful, but it feels nice to hear him say it. He always knows the right thing to say.
He tells me about himself and his hobbies. I learn that his favorite color is orange, and he enjoys watching the sunset. His favorite pastime is painting.
I've never been good at talking about myself, but it's important that I share something with him. I tell him that I became an executioner to make enough money to feed my family. My father passed away when I was fifteen, and my mother couldn't cope with the loss. Times were tough, and this job had the best wages.
"You did it to save your family. That's very admirable," he says. "You're not as bad as they say you are."
I'm disliked by almost everyone in the Seam. The poor steal food from the wealthy, and I have to punish them for their crimes. "What do people say about me?"
He shrugs. "That you are a heartless killer."
So that's what they think of me. "Do you believe them?"
"I've never believed them." He places his hands on my shoulders, and I can't help wondering what he is thinking. There is a strange emotion in his eyes that I can't place.
"Peeta..."
He tilts his head to the side. "May I kiss you?"
I stare at him in shock. "I've never kissed anyone before."
"That's okay. Neither have I," he says softly.
The reality of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks. Peeta is going to die in three days. He is going to miss out on all the things life has to offer if I can't save him. He won't ever fall in love, or get married, or have kids.
I feel obligated to make him happy, but there is a part of me that wants to kiss him. I've known him since kindergarten. We used to play together with Madge and Delly, and he would bake me cheese buns when I was sad. We were never close, but I've always felt something for the baker's boy. Something I can't define.
"You're not going to die. We will bring the real murderer to justice, and you will be set free." I seal the promise with a kiss.
Have some Everlark cuteness! Anyway, things are never quite as simple as they seem. I have something in mind that you may not expect, but I am curious to know what you guys think is going to happen.
