Chapter 3

Troublemaker

My mind keeps saying "run as fast as you can"

Well, well, well, I thought as the initial shock and surprise gave way to pure admiration of the sheer guts she had to pull a stunt like this. She really did have something up her sleeve, didn't she. And by the looks of it, she seemed pretty damn determined to see it through, whatever it was.

"I have to say I'm impressed", I said. "And a little confused too, since I'm not entirely sure if you actually want something else than a good time or whether this is merely your idea of exciting, original foreplay."

She stepped forward, pressing the barrel of the gun against my forehead.

"Now would be a good time to switch off the smartass mode, Crane", she hissed. "In case you haven't noticed, the odds are not exactly in your favor at the moment."

"Playing hard to get, are we?" I shot back with a daring smirk. "A bit old-school, don't you think?"

"I could kill you right this minute and not even blink", she snarled in response. "You don't want to encourage me."

"Trust me, I don't doubt your ability to commit a cold-blooded kill for a second, darling", I replied calmly. "But I don't think committing one tonight would benefit you all that much, which is why I'm relatively certain you won't be pulling that trigger on me. You need me, don't you? For whatever it is you want. You do despise me – hence the convincing threatening, and the tough struggle to fight the strong urge to actually realize that threat that no doubt is going on inside your head right now. But if you did, you'd get yourself killed as well, since you were the last person I had contact with before leaving the nightclub. It's not that hard for the officials to put two and two together after watching the surveillance tapes from both the nightclub and the Training Centre. Furthermore, as a desperate parent of a Tribute, one who as a former Tribute and Victor has also proved to be able to commit a kill without trouble when needed herself, you also have the perfect motif, and would consequently easily qualify as the unquestionable number one suspect from the start."

I risked a smug smile.

"And if you get executed", I continued, "then who is there left to look after the poor kid? Because that's what this is about, isn't it? Your precious kid and the last desperate attempt to save him from the certain death that waits for him at the arena. And right now you're trying to threaten me into making it even theoretically possible for you to actually succeed. Correct me if I'm wrong."

A hesitant silence fell, and for a moment our eyes locked and our stares held. Then finally, Arya spoke.

"I see you're learning fast", she said. "Well, good. Saves me from having to explain in too much detail."

"I figured it might indeed please you if we just skipped the boring formalities and got right down to business", I agreed. "Talking about which, if you'd care to enlighten me by stating what it actually is you're inquiring of me, I'd be extremely delighted. After all, even though I very much doubt we'll be able to come to an understanding, I am still curious to hear what it is exactly I will be saying no to."

"Unfortunately, you don't have the luxury of saying no, darling", she shot back. "This time, we'll be playing by my rules. So here's what's going to happen. On the eve of the bloodbath and the beginning of the Games, after the Tribute interviews, you will arrange Aden's escape from the Training Centre and ensure both his and my access to a train out of the Capitol, and make sure our absence goes unnoticed for at least twelve hours. That should give us enough of a head start."

It was all I could do to not burst out laughing.

"Yeah, sure", I snorted, "as if they haven't already tightened security and surveillance all around the Capitol because of the Games, let alone at the goddamn train station. There's no way in hell you're going to get there unnoticed, not to mention making it to the outer districts without getting caught."

"With your influence and contacts, yes, there is", she insisted.

"And how on earth were you planning on persuading me into getting involved with something as ridiculously hopeless as what you've just described and willingly laying my reputation, my career and my very life on the line by your request?" I inquired amusedly. "You know how corruption works, Arya. If you want to bribe or blackmail somebody, you better have something for them or something on them. So I'm asking you again: what's in it for me?"

"What makes you so sure I don't have anything on you?" she countered.

"The only thing you have on me, honey, is the night after your Victory Ceremony", I said, grinning mischievously, "which is not even near enough to interest the authorities. As to possible accusations for favoritism towards your son the Tribute in light of our acquaintance, good luck with that. This is the Capitol, Arya. The arena is not the only place where the Games take place. Everybody places bets and money buys you influence over events and, shall we say incidents, occurring in the arena to a certain degree. As long as it is not too obvious, and we let the Tributes do the dirty part, finish the job so to speak, the authorities look the other way. So I'm sorry, but a trip down Memory Lane won't be enough to seal the deal here."

"Maybe not the trip itself", she replied, quietly now, "but its ongoing aftermath just might."

I frowned. I was no stranger to games, but at the moment I had no idea what the hell she was playing at. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

A bitter laughter escaped her as she shook her head, and for a moment I could see in her eyes the same glimpse of suppressed emotion as I had back in the nightclub.

"You'd think that for a smart man like yourself it wouldn't be that hard to read between the lines."

"I'll be happy to do the reading, darling", I replied, "but you're going to have to give me a little more of the lines first."

"Fine", she snapped, her eyes flaming with sudden anger. "Then read this: we spent that night together about exactly thirteen years ago. Twelve years and three months from that, this March, my son, Aden, turned twelve. Do the math."

This time, I did burst into laughter. Arya looked furious.

"Well I'm glad that you think it's funny!" she growled. "Glad that you're not taking this seriously!"

"Of course I'm not taking it seriously", I chuckled cheerfully. "Not that I'm saying it wasn't a good one – it was, probably the best one yet, to be honest. But the thing is, we get this all the time; all these different sob stories and random reasons why we should favor this and that Tribute in order to save this and that family and gain so and so much more fame and fortune in return. And every time the answer's the same: throwing in one or two incidents or changing the circumstances a bit to allow new chains of events to take place can be arranged, but consistently favoring a single Tribute in the arena, or even before entering the arena, is strictly against the rules and thereby out of the question. I do applaud you for the cheek to give this sob story thing a go, but to strike a deal, you're going to have to come up with something better than that. And by better, I mean some serious money."

"Money?!" spat Arya, outraged. "A fat paycheck, that's all you can think about? I just told you you have a son, my son! Does that not move you at all?!"

"Not in the slightest", I replied indifferently, "since it's obvious it's not true. I mean, come on, Arya – you're telling me I'm the only person you fooled around with back then? Plus, we only met once, shared one crazy night. You've got to admit your argument's not too solid."

"The last time I checked, one crazy night is quite enough to get the job done", she countered, staring knives at me. "And of course as a Capitol puppet you can't even begin to understand how completely unstable, broken and shattered the Games leave those few who make it back. Back here in the Capitol, after returning from the arena, I used every chance I was offered to blur my mind and find a moment, however brief, of blissful oblivion. I partied like crazy after the Victory Ceremony, nearly drowned myself in alcohol and let myself enjoy you for the night, concentrating on the physical pleasure in order to numb the emotional pain. But after I left the Capitol and returned to Five, where I couldn't postpone dealing with my messed up mind anymore, I stayed in my room, behind locked doors for six weeks, afraid that if I came out, they would take me back to the arena. I didn't eat for days, was afraid to go to sleep for months. I was afraid to go near other people or let them touch me, because I was suffering from serious emotional trauma caused by encounters and combat with the other Tributes at the arena. Sexual intercourse with another person usually includes being pretty close to and touching each other, so I presume you get what I'm saying here. You were the last person I let near me like that during the time frame we're talking about. I'm telling the truth. Aden's your son."

I considered her carefully, trying to find a tell, a sign that would give away her bluff. But her poker face never faltered, and her fiery gaze held, without a single blink. Well, wasn't she goddamn persistent with this. Almost distractingly persistent. She had really thought about this, hadn't she, put a lot of thought and effort into the story she was trying to sell me. And I had to admit she was presenting her case quite convincingly, too. Which was starting to make me uneasy. Why was she pushing it, appealing to the claimed blood connection between her kid and me, and the emotional response she clearly expected me to demonstrate? Why did she expect me to go with it, to believe her? To care.

Why weren't we talking business already?

"Look", I said, determined to put an end to the ridiculous scenario she was creating, to wipe clean the wall she was busy painting devils on. "I'll tell you what: as a… let's say an old friend, I will throw in a favor or two for your kid once the Games begin, shall I, maybe score him a bit higher at the evaluation so that the others will take him seriously and perhaps even steer clear of him for a while at the beginning, how's that? And as an old friend I will also be very understanding and give you more than enough time to gather and deliver the compensation for my efforts. It's a good deal, Arya. The best you can get. So I suggest you drop the charade and just take it."

For a moment, Arya just looked at me in silence. But this time, there was no fire, no anger, no fury in her eyes. This time her gaze was cold as ice. Cold and strangely calm.

"Is that your final offer then?" she inquired coolly and formally. "Are you sure you don't want to consider taking what I'm telling you seriously?"

"Yes, I am. Glad we straightened that out. So shall we just shake on it and be on our way then?"

She smiled – a dangerous, cunning smile.

"Alright then", she said, lowering the gun, and turned to walk away as she placed it in her purse. "You don't believe me, fine. Let's see if the authorities take my statement as lightly as you do when I lay out the facts in front of them."

I followed her across the roof and made to open the door for her, putting on my gentleman smile just to annoy her.

"By all means, do whatever you think is necessary", I articulated. "It's your word against mine."

"So you're absolutely certain I'm lying?"she pressed on, stepping closer to me, so close it almost messed up my balance. "You're absolutely sure that if they'll ask you to take the necessary tests to prove my argument invalid, the results will be in your favor? Because if they're not…"

She tilted her head ever so slightly, her lips curving in the same dangerous smile that now sent a shiver down my spine.

"Because if they're not", she repeated, "then imagine what a scandal it would be if something like this got out. One of the Tributes turns out as the offspring of the Head Gamemaker. Sure they wouldn't take your title and give you the boot right away. But your every move would be watched thrice as carefully, everything you made happen at the arena that involved Aden and the way you evaluated him before that would be scrutinized, questioned and judged. It would shift the attention from all the precious entertainment of the actual Games to the Control Room and the family drama affecting its efficient functioning. You know Snow won't tolerate anything of the sort. I would imagine he'd let you finish the Games, but as soon as a Victor was declared, he'd no doubt want to escort you out personally. And we both know what happens to people the president escorts out. Your career as Head Gamemaker would be finished before it's even had time to properly begin, after only one scandalous Games. I imagine that would not exactly be the kind of legacy you're looking to leave behind, is it now, darling? Correct me if I'm wrong."

She wasn't. Wrong. On the contrary, the image she was creating, the hypothetical chain of events she was describing would, should it somehow, inexplicably take place in reality, be every bit as disastrous and scandalous as she was saying. The end of my career, my name and reputation forever stained. Years of hard work, unyielding determination and perfected professional talent – all down the drain. Hell, the woman was threatening me with my worst nightmare. She didn't have the tricks to make it real though, I hurried to remind myself. She wouldn't be able to conjure up enough fake evidence to support her story in order to convince the authorities. She was lying, lying her face off, because that's what people did to get what they wanted. She wouldn't take it as far as to try and fool the authorities as well and risk getting her bluff called. Because she would get her bluff called. Right?

Stop, I told myself firmly, shaking off to the best of my ability the haunting, extremely uncomfortable, almost panic-like feeling the thought of the absurd alternative scenario brought about. Stop falling for it. She's lying. End of story.

"You know, the joke's starting to get old", I told her, stepping inside and deliberately choosing to go for the stairs while she made for the elevator, suddenly determined to get away from her as quickly as possible, "and so is this conversation, because it's going nowhere. Which means we're wasting both our time. So if you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave. Good night, Miss Cobb."

"Your choice", I heard her calling after me. "Take tonight to say goodbye to your career, and expect a call from the authorities tomorrow night, then, after the Tribute Parade."

"Bring it on", I hissed, more to myself than for her to hear. If she wanted to play, then so be it. I was trained to play. To call the shots and crush anything or anyone who tried to outsmart me. This would be no different. We would play and she would lose. End. Of. Story.

But no matter how hard I tried to silence it, the light, almost cheerful tone of her voice stuck in the back of my mind as I made my way back to street level and out of the building, repeating her last words over and over again, strengthening the doubts I was by the end of the night doing all I mentally could to strike down.

Would she really risk it? Could I really risk it? I mean, if she'd play this game with me, against me, she would lose, without question. That wasn't the issue here. The issue, the problem, was the possibility – a very slim and extremely unlikely but yet not inexistent one – of her actually being able to take me down with her. All the way down to the worst case scenario.

And the worst case scenario wasn't pretty.

Splashing cold water on my face, I forced myself to break the unflattering chain of thoughts I had been constructing for hours already, and determinedly willed away the signs of uncertainty on the face in the bathroom mirror.

Over my dead body.

"Two minutes to the first carriage", I announced less than twenty four hours later in the Control Room, as the entire team of Gamemakers were settling on their stations after frantic running around and doing last minute preparations in order to make sure the nationwide broadcast of the Tribute Parade would run smoothly. This night was when the show would really kick off properly, and I was determined not to let anything, not even some tiny, insignificant detail, fall out of place. Not only were the Games my chance for a breakthrough as a Gamemaker, they were also my first serious chance to show my skills as a television producer and director as well. And I would make sure nothing would ruin it. Not even goddamn Arya Cobb with her lies.

"Get much sleep last night?" inquired Brett casually, as he turned away from the monitors ahead of him to grin at me widely.

"Keep your eyes on the screen, Levenridge", I snapped, with my most authoritative voice. "And stop playing around. You're supposed to work here, so why don't you concentrate on doing what you get paid for."

Brett's grin only grew wider.

"Oh", he chuckled. "Didn't get anything except sleep, apparently."

"Thirty seconds", I called out, ignoring him. "I want close-ups of every carriage as soon as they're out there, and about twelve seconds or so of the overall view, celebrity box and the audience in between carriages."

"So how'd you manage to screw it up?" Brett pressed on. "You pissed her off or something?"

"Fifteen seconds!" I called, striding towards Brett's station as I did and gave him the fiercest look I could manage as I stood right next to him, invading his personal space almost aggressively so that our faces were just an inch apart. "And if you want to be here when I finish the countdown, Levenridge, I seriously recommend cutting the crap right now."

There hadn't been too many times I had seen Brett Levenridge intimidated by anything, but apparently this time my furious gaze and commanding tone did the trick.

"Very well", was all he said as he nodded and turned back to his station.

"Very well, sir!" I snapped back as I made my way to the middle of the room and took one last glance around, meeting the eyes of each of my colleagues in turn. "Now, let's get this party started. Five, four, three, two, one. Go."

In the City Circle, the first carriage emerged into view, and the other eleven followed, each one timed to start their journey fifteen seconds after the previous one. The pairs of Tributes standing side by side in the carriages were all styled to look as pretentious as possible, and to depict the distinctive characteristics of their District. Excellent close-ups from the first four Districts showed just how detailed and skilled the styling really was, and I had to give it to all those professional stylists that worked to make the Tributes the kind of radiating stars they became once they emerged in those carriages. Even though I did appreciate my own occupation a whole lot more than I did styling, I had to admit that apparently those who had chosen that part, played it well.

"Nice close-up on Four there, Cora", I said as I passed her station. "And a clever transition to the-"

I never finished the sentence. For something cut me right off, stole my attention and messed up my concentration entirely. The close-ups from the District Five carriage, and the two Tributes greeting the crowd. A teenage girl, looking scared and lost and totally out of place in the middle of everyone's attention, and the younger, red-haired boy, with a much more confident, determined look on his face. Just like all the other Tributes, they were styled up to the last detail, honoring their District by wearing traditional, yet slightly updated and tweaked versions of powerplant worker's uniforms. But as I stared at the image, it wasn't the elaborate styling, nor the increasingly terrified expression on the girl's face that made the color of my own turn white as a sheet. It was the intense look in Aden Cobb's eyes – in the piercing, bright and icy blue pair of them.

It was like staring into a mirror.

Shit, was the only thought my brain managed to produce as the moment passed and the images on the screens changed into an overall view of the City Circle.

Holy shit…

Author's note: Thank you to everyone who's reading this for your patience. I know how annoying it is to wait this long for updates, and I'm sorry for not being able to speed up the writing process or just will writer's block to disappear when it hits. Also a big thanks to everyone who's been reviewing, it really makes my day to read those reviews, and your comments - whether they're compliments or constructive criticism - are much appreciated! :)