Part 4: Reunions

"Okay, let's review. We take separate trains to Districts Two and Eleven. Charis reveals Project Elisha on the news a few hours after our trains arrive. We visit our families for as long as we need to. You be sure to get the Bible from that tree. We meet up in District 12, visit Katniss, hope our combined appearance doesn't give her a heart attack, and then we head back to the Capitol to greet the others and plan our next move."

I nod at Clove and look up at the schedules for the trains. It's a few days later and we're at the Capitol Train Station waiting to catch our respective trains to our districts. Charis, Garret, and Blade are there with us. Charis was one of the few to listen to us and since she's in charge of the project, that's good. It took a week for her to work out a compromise with the others, but she knows how to negotiate. Clove's horror stories have the project scientists buzzing. Some are still sticking to the 'subconscious- revival-dream' theory, while others are starting to take stock in our story. The guards will basically act as guides and bodyguards in our districts. Things have changed in the years since we've been dead and Charis considers it necessary. Garret is from District 11, while Blade hails from 2.

I glance around at the people on the platform. Things have certainly changed in the Capitol, that's for certain. The fashions are still a bit wild, but there are hardly any of the crazy body modifications I saw the last time I was here. No more cat whiskers or designed cuts. There are also District people walking around, checking their schedules and conversing with the Capitolites. If things have changed this much in the Capitol, how have the districts changed?

I notice a few people here and there giving us odd looks, like they recognize our faces but can't remember the name that goes to them. Most of these looks are directed towards me. According to what Charis told us about the aftermath of the 74th Hunger Games, I was apparently more popular among the population than Clove was. I turn to Charis and ask, "Charis, what are we supposed to do if they recognize us? The last time they saw Clove, she was trying to kill Katniss." I see Clove's face pale and Charis notices as well.

"Don't worry," she tells Clove. "Even if they knew about the project, they're not going to instantly assume that you're Clove Corleone just because you resemble her."

"Aren't they going to show our pictures when you announce Project Elisha's existence and success?" hisses Clove, eyes darting everywhere.

"Yes, and if someone gets stupid, they'll have to deal with Blade," answers Charis.

I study Blade. His closely-cropped black hair and hard eyes are intimidating enough. His imposing size and obvious strength, marking him as a District 2 citizen, should keep away anyone smaller than him away from Clove. I notice the strange sidearm at his side. I don't know if it shoots bullets or not, but I hope no one has to find out.

"Train 527 to District 2 on Platform 8, now boarding. Train 527 to District 2 on Platform 8, now boarding," announces the loudspeaker system. Clove and Blade pick up their bags while Charis double checks the tickets she bought. Clove turns to me and engulfs me in a bear hug.

"Pray for me," she whispers.

"I will. You pray for me?" I say.

I hear her smile. "Deal."

I sigh as she and Blade head over to Platform 8, disappearing into the crowd. She's had to keep taking those pills for her dreams. I just hope that District 2 doesn't bring up any painful memories. Maybe meeting with her family will be just the medicine she needs. That, and the Gospel, once I have the book.

The strange thing about the Gospel is that it often spreads in the most unlikely of places, the places that have just suffered terrible catastrophe brought around by the consequences of their values and actions. Something tells me that out of all the places in Panem, the Capitol and District 2 will be the most affected by our message. Most people have largely forgotten the Rebellion, but even in the Capitol, you come across reminders. A damaged building, a discarded weapon in an alley. I heard that someone found a human skeleton in the underground passages beneath the Capitol. People see these things, remember what brought them about, and start thinking about differing values, the values that come from walking with the Lord.

"Train 243 to District 11 on Platform 4, now boarding. Train 243 to District 11 on Platform 4, now boarding."

Garret and I grab our bags while Charis gives us our tickets. She crouches down in front of me and gives me a quick hug. When she stands back up, she's smiling.

"Rue, both Garret and Blade have cell phones you can use to call me or Clove. Don't wander off anywhere without Garret. We don't need anything to happen to you now," she tells me.

"Yes, ma'am," I say.

As Garret and I turn to Platform 4, Charis calls out. "I'll think about what you told me, Rue. And I want to see that book when you get back. Goodbye."

"I'll make sure you see it. Goodbye," I answer, smiling. She is nothing like her grandfather. When we were coming here, people would make eye contact with her to suddenly break it and keep away. People only spoke to her when they didn't know who she was or if they needed to. Charis Snow will not be repeating the sins of her grandfather any time soon or ever. Project Elisha is only one out of the many charities, companies, and projects she's using in an attempt to redeem the family name and fix what Coriolanus Snow has done to Panem.

The technology needed for such a feat was in the making in the Capitol at the time of my Games. The Rebellion shelved the project only to be revived a year after the Districts won. When Charis had come into her inheritance and learned about the project, she used her wealth and what influence she had to get in charge of it. She changed the project's name from Charon to Elisha because she had come across a scrap of paper in District 7 telling of a man named Elisha. After he died, a body was thrown in his tomb and when it landed on his bones, the man came back to life. With the project, she's trying to give back the lives that were taken from the innocent, to give as many people as possible a second chance at life. As Jesus said, it's noble but misdirected. If she comes to Him, the good she'll be able to do in His name will be great.

My musings are broken as Garret and I board the train. It's not as luxurious as the tribute train Thresh and I came on, but it sure is nice. I'm told the train has multiple sleeping cars, a dining car, a bathroom car, and a bar car. The sleeping compartments aren't as nice as the ones on the tribute train. They're basically two bunks and a storage compartment set into the car's walls. When I ask Garret why, he tells me, "This is a passenger train owned by a private company. They can't make these trains too nice or they'll have more money going out than coming in." As I ask him what a private company is, I start to realize just how much Panem has changed in the last 25 years. Looks like school is something I'm going to need to acclimate in this new Panem. Darn.

Garret stows our luggage in the compartment beneath our unit and takes the top bunk. I open the curtain and study mine. Basically, it's just a bed with a few feet of space above it. I lay in the bed and look out the window. People are milling around the train, getting onboard and saying goodbye to friends and relatives. From the outside, the windows are darkened so that you can't look inside. I notice a control panel built into the wall underneath the window. I press a button and a cool breeze washes over me. I study it and press another. The window transforms into a woodland scene. I cycle through the images until I come across a field of wheat, waving in the breeze and glistening gold.

The sight reminds me so much of home, it's almost enough to make me cry. I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes for a few minutes. I'll see everyone at home in a few hours. Well, almost everyone. Uncle Remus is up in Heaven along with people I knew from 11, some of them well and others not so much. The sad part is that some of my fellow 11ers will be dead and not in Heaven. My word, at this rate I'll be crying out every drop of water in my body.

I open my eyes and look at the bottom of Garret's bunk. A television screen is built into it. I look at the control panel again and see which buttons are for the TV. I'll have to check that out when we get underway. I glance at a clock underneath the TV.

"Garret, aren't we supposed to headed to District 11 by now?" I ask.

"We already are," he says. "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me for lunch please?"

"Sure," I answer as I turn the window back to normal. We're already out of the tunnels that lead through the mountain. These trains can go at 300 miles per hour and move even more smoothly than the ones I went on. There are a few nice things about taking a break from Earth for 25 years. I settle myself in and start flipping through the channels on the TV. It'll be a few hours before we reach District 11. Clove will reach District 2 much sooner than I'll reach mine. I hope she's doing okay.

I hope Rue's doing okay. Cause right now I'm feeling the urge to rip someone apart. The channel I'm watching is showing a history documentary on the 74th Hunger Games, "The Games that Changed Everything." A "Professor Rodric Kelvin" is speaking about me and Cato. His description of us, "a pair of sociopathic killers with no regard for human life," is pretty accurate. What I'm mad about is that he's speculating, on national TV, on whether or not my father abused me as a child, spurring me on to become a child-killing monster. I turn it off before I break the screen. I stare angrily at it. It's one thing to call me a monster, I was one, but nobody has the right to smear my father's name in front of the entire country. He pushed me hard, but he never abused me, physically or otherwise.

I can feel it rising within me, the rage. The rage trained within me from the moment I entered the academy, the rage that earned me the top female score, the rage that enabled me to slaughter and kill without mercy. The same rage that sent me to Hell.

Remembering where that rage got me, I grab the pillow and squeeze it mercilessly. I haven't felt this angry since Katniss blew up our supplies in the arena. I inhale and exhale deeply in an attempt to bring my heart rate and anger down. "Dear God," I whisper. "Please help me. I'm so angry I want to kill that man. Please, take away that rage and desire. I can't go back to what I was. Please." Slowly, I feel it fade away until it's gone. I let go of the pillow and look over my shoulder. Thankfully, I had the curtain drawn and nobody saw my mini-breakdown.

"Thank you Lord, and please, help and protect Rue wherever she is. Amen," I finish. I lay there for a few minutes watching the landscape fly by. We're alternating between mountains and tunnels through mountains so we must be getting close to home. Home: cold, clear air, hundreds of geese in the fall, views of the Rocky Mountains. Home is where the heart is, and it'll be great to see it all after the arena and Hell.

I close my eyes and before I know it, Blade is shaking me awake. "Clove, we're here."

I yawn. "Thanks." I glance towards the clock. "I slept through lunch?"

"Yep," he says as he fishes our bags out of the compartment. "Sorry about that. I tried to get you up, but you just rolled over and kept snoring."

"I don't snore," I say as I grab my bag.

"Yes, you do. Come on. Charis is going to reveal the project in a few hours and I think your family would have you walk in through the door than see your face on the evening news."

He's got that right. I wonder what's changed in the District since I left. The Capitol hasn't changed much since I last saw it, not counting the fashion changes of course. The Districts, however, have probably changed massively in the last quarter of a century. Nothing is noticeably changed inside the train station. It's when we walk out the doors that things change. There are no Peacekeepers patrolling for one thing. The closest thing is a blue-uniformed man that's directing traffic in the middle of the town square. Speaking of traffic, there are dozens of cars parked by the train station and driving through the square. I always considered the square to be the loudest place in the District; it's gotten even louder. The subdued atmosphere is replaced by a festive air. People are talking animatedly and children are laughing as they play and shop with their parents. Some banners are being set up on the square's far side.

"What's the occasion?" I ask.

"It's Reaping Day tomorrow," Blade answers.

"What!?" I yelp.

"It's a celebration of the fact that there are no more reapings. Sorry about that."

I glare at him. "At least I'm awake now."

"Good. Wait a moment while I hail a taxi."

While he's signaling at a yellow car with the word "taxi" on the side, I look at the banner again. I can see what it says now. Happy 24th Reaping Day! Celebrating the End of the Reapings. I look around at the happy, excited masses. This is the world without the Hunger Games, a District 2 where the Games are reviled and they celebrate the fact that the Reapings no longer take place.

The taxi comes up to us and I stow my bag in the trunk with Blade's. "Do they celebrate the end of the Games too?" I ask as we get into the car.

"Everyone celebrates the end of the Games," answers the driver. "And the day the Capitol fell. Where have you been, under a rock?"

"I haven't been around people for a while," I answer. He gives me an odd look through the rear-view mirror and then turns his eyes back on the square.

"Where to?"

"Aspen Grove," says Blade. The man grunts, punches a button that starts a meter running and drives out of the square. It seems that the main settlement has expanded quite a bit. The dirt roads between the settlements are paved now and there's railing whenever there's a steep ledge. I study the landscape that's both familiar and not so as we go by. I can't help but notice that the driver, when not talking about sports or how lousy gas prices are, is giving me looks like he's trying to place my face. I know it's unlikely he will, but I can't help but wonder what'll happen if he does.

I start recognizing landmarks and buildings from long ago. All at once, it comes rushing back to me. There's the tree I fell out of when I was 6, and there's Old Man Daniel's house. Except the tree has been cut down and there are three kids playing out on the front lawn. I wonder what my house looks like now. What if it's still even there? I decide to hold my questions until we get out of the car.

The driver stops and I look upon my old neighborhood. I know that change is gradual, but unless you're there to see it, it's sudden and strange. There are new houses around and the old ones are either abandoned or renovated. It seems that people gotten richer in the wake of the Capitol's fall. Even the houses of the quarry workers look better.

"Aspen Groves. That'll be four gold pieces please," the driver announces. Blade pays the man and we get our luggage from the back. After one more searching look, the driver heads back to town. I look at the surroundings and instantly retrace the route back home from this point.

"Hey, Blade, where does my family live these days?" I ask.

"Your sister lives in your house with her husband, parents, and kids. She's a reporter for the District 2 Gazette and so your old home is probably a bit bigger than you remember. Can you find it from here?"

"Did I come back from the dead? I know the route like the back of my hand," I respond.

He grins. "Lead on then."

I walk down both the physical lane and memory lane as we head towards my house. All the times Calliope and I walked to-and-from the Academy, the times we'd played battle, the times I had walked home in the evening with my friends to get yelled at by my dad for almost missing curfew, I see them now in my head. Callie had been 13 years old the last time I saw her. That had been just after the "Reaping." In that room, my parents were so proud of me and I had jokingly told Callie she'd better do the same in 5 years or I'd disown her. Then, I had been so proud of myself. I was going to bring honor, glory, and riches to my family and District 2. Now, I'm nauseated.

I think back to Callie herself. I had always been told that I looked like my father while Callie resembled my mother more. Green eyes, high cheekbones, and light brown hair, unusual in the District. I remember decking this one fourteen year old who had hit on her a couple of weeks before the Reaping. I think his name was 'Bane' or something like that. I told him, "Better me than my dad." My dad with his brown eyes and almost-black hair that I had inherited from him. He would have done more to that kid if he had heard about it. He had a quick temper, though neither I nor Callie nor Mom had ever been on the receiving end. My beautiful mother, who had nearly gone into the Games herself. When she was 18, she'd had come in second in the girls' section. It's interesting that I've got my father's looks and temper, and my mother's skills with knives. At least now Callie never had to see if she could win the Games with her own skills.

Between two (taller than I remember) pine trees sits the Corleone residence. It has a couple of add-ons that weren't there last time I saw the place. I stand there for a full minute taking it in. All the time I was in Hell I tried to remember what it looked like. At first I could, but as time wore on, I began to forget. The pain and misery became all that existed. I knew about my life and family before Hell, but I couldn't recall anything for the life of me. The flames became the only reality I ever knew, until I came back. If this picture of home, and Earth, was so heavenly, what was the real Heaven like? I don't think I'll ever be able to use the word 'Hell' as a swear word ever again.

"Uh, Clove?" I jump and turn to find Blade looking at me concernedly. "Do you want me to go first? Your sister knows me and I'm expected anyway."

"Sure," I answer. And then what he just said fully hits me. "Wait, you know my sister?! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he says, grinning. "And besides," he adds as he walks up to the door and presses the doorbell, "You don't know the half of it."

I was about to reply that I didn't know ten percent of it when the door opens. "Blade," cries a feminine voice, and there out of the door comes an older, taller, more beautiful, and hugely pregnant version of Calliope. Oh, and she's in a fierce lip-lock with Blade.

"Holy…." I cut myself off before I can finish.

They abruptly pull apart and face me. "Sorry about that. Who are…." She stares at me like I'm a ghost, which I kind of am. I take the opportunity to study her. She looks exactly like my mom did the last time I saw her, except with the huge pregnant belly. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was my mom. I clear my throat and swallow.

"Hey Calliope. It's me, Clove," I say. By the way she clutches at both her heart and her stomach, I wonder if I've induced both a heart attack and pre-mature labor at once.

"Callie, this is the result of that project I work for. We've brought back your sister," says Blade. Calliope only let me and our parents ever call her Callie. She continues to stare at me. I'm starting to wonder if she's going to keel over when she suddenly grabs me in a bone-crushing hug.

"Clove, you don't know how much we missed you. When you died, and then when we gave your body to that woman after the war, it all hurt," she says, crying.

"I'm here now, and I intend to stay for a while," I say. I look over her shoulder into Blade's grinning face. "You know my sister, huh?" I wait for Callie to let me go before continuing. "I'll say you do," I say, eyeing her stomach.

"He always did like a surprise," smiles Callie. "I think everyone is going to want to see you. Come on. The kids are listening to dad reading them a story."

We follow her in with our luggage and once again I'm surprised by the changes. The wood floor has been replaced with carpet and there are children's toys all over it. The furniture is nicer than I remember and there are pictures hanging all over the walls. I spot a few of me in varying stages of development: infancy, childhood, teen years. There are also quite a few of Callie, Blade, my parents, and kids I've never seen before.

We come up to a door and Callie opens it. She motions me forward and I look inside. There are four kids ranging from 13 to 5 years of age. They're sitting around an older man who's reading a story out of a book to them. It's Dad. He's gathered a few wrinkles over the years, along with some grey streaks in his hair. The door creaks and he looks up. The kids do too.

I'm confronted with a 13-year-old that's the spitting image of Blade, a 10-year-old that's a mix of his parents, an 8-year-old girl that looks almost like me, and a five-year-old girl with black hair and eyes. Dad stares at me, and then calls out, "Calliope, who's this?"

"Dad, you remember when we gave Clove's body to that woman who wanted people who had died during the Hunger Games and the War?" He nods. "Well, she brought Clove back to life, and here she is."

He gets up, walks up to me, and looks me full in the face. "Clove?" he whispers.

I smile weakly. "Hiya, Dad."

For the second time that day I'm enveloped in a bear-hug by a crying person. Considering it's my family, I don't care a bit. I hug back and cry some as well. When we stop, the kids are staring at us like we both just grew two heads. Dad clears his throat. "Kids, this is your Aunt Clove. She has…been dead for a long time."

"I thought you couldn't bring people back to life," pipes up the oldest boy.

"It depends on a few factors," I reply. "Good to see my nieces and nephews." They all get up hesitantly and hug me in a body. "Argh. Can't breathe."

"Sorry," says the boy. "We've always wanted an aunt, or an uncle, like the other kids."

"Thanks," I say. I take a closer look at him. "Wait a second." He looks just like that punk that hit on Callie. I look to Blade. "You're that kid I decked just before the Reaping, aren't you?"

"Guilty as charged," he admits.

"I ought to tell Dad about that," I say.

"Tell me about what?" inquires Dad.

"That's a story for dinner," says Callie. "Mom's going to want to see you." We troop out to the kitchen, and there she is, my mother. The women that gave birth to me, nursed me, and raised me. She's also the woman who enrolled me at the Academy, recognizing my potential as a Career tribute. She's aged as well as Dad has. She's stirring a pot of soup.

"Hey, Blade," she says as she turns around. "I'm making your favorite tonight, chicken noo…" Her reaction to my return is more dramatic than the rest of them. She drops the spoon and has to grab the countertop to keep from falling. She's gasping and hyperventilating. I rush forward and support her.

"Mom, it's me. Calm down. Don't you die too, believe me it's not good on the other side!" She starts breathing slowly and calming down. Everyone's around her when she finally stands on her own.

"Clove, how are you alive? I saw you, on the TV…" She breaks down and starts crying. This time I start the hug, and before I know it, we're at the epicenter of a group hug. If Rue's getting hugged at the same rate as I am, she'll be exhausted at the end of the day. She's got a much larger family. "Clove, I'm so sorry," Mom is saying. "I put you in the Academy, I showed you how to throw knives, I drilled it into your head to be a killer, I was so proud of you and what I'd done to make you what you were. I'm responsible for what happened to you in the arena. I'm so sorry."

"I helped," croaks Dad. "I drove you, encouraged, basically forced you to train for the arena. I fed you to them with both hands, and I only realized it when the cannon fired. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," I say. "You were just doing as you were taught, and so was I. It was wrong, but it was all you knew, and all I knew. Heh, I was showing Calliope how to throw a knife just before we went to the Reaping. We were all stuck in the same trap. It's over now, and I'm back, this time for good."

"Mommy, what are you talking about? Did Aunt Clove do something bad?" asks the 8 year old.

We all part and I crouch to her level. "Yes, I've done bad things, but I'm done with that. And I'm never going back." I noticed her resemblance to me before and I see it again now. "Is your name Clove too?"

"Yes, they all say I look like you."

"You do, sweetheart. You do." I stand up and look at everyone. "We all need a tissue, that's for sure." This elicits a small laugh from everyone.

"Honey, what did you mean when you said, 'it's not good on the other side'?" Mom asks.

I grimace. "That can wait until after dinner. There's something you guys," I gesture to the adults, "need to hear."

I stare at the scene as we pass. Back in Heaven, the District 11 version changed as the Earth one did. Of course, old landmarks weren't disturbed if they meant something to someone. I remember what the District was like before I left. Huge fields with orchards and groups of huts here and there. The fence buzzing with electricity and the population sweating under the sun. I can still hear the barks of the Peacekeepers and the occasional gunshot as a "deviant" was punished.

Now, the fence is smaller, and the barbed coils on top and the metal plates on the bottom are gone, along with the gun towers. All the shacks are gone and I see single houses usually accompanied by a barn lining the roads as we entered the district. Instead of people there are huge machines working the fields. The roads are paved and there are cars and trucks everywhere. There are a lot more buildings and homes surrounding the town square. The Justice Building has been cleared of the ivy and is now the "District Hall." The run-down and abandoned store-fronts are either fixed or downright replaced. The people are happy, I can hear children laughing, and there's not a Peacekeeper to be seen.

If anything, this District 11 reminds me a lot of the one in Heaven. Things just seem so peaceful and happy. I'm still reminded that I'm on the earthly 11 by the homeless man I spot up an alley, and by the necessity of a blue-uniformed man in a car marked "Police." As nice as this District 11 is, the one in Heaven is still far better.

"Rue," Garret says in a semi-whisper. "Your parents live in the town now. They're both retired. After you…left, your parents had two more children, two boys. Your siblings are all grown-up with families of your own. You have about 18 nieces and nephews, with a few more on the way."

"Oh wow," I whisper back. We're whispering because of the "taxi" driver. He seems to be a nice man, but even if I look like the famous tribute Rue Carver, he'll think we're crazy if he hears I'm back from the dead.

We're going through streets lined with houses now. Compared to the shack where I and my family lived in before I was reaped, these are palaces. Of course, they're nothing to the Lord's Palace, but still. It seems that everyone and their brother (Uncle Remus's favorite phrase) owns a car or truck. I remember hearing that before Panem, the people lived like this; nice houses, owning cars, having machines to do work for you. Of course, our teachers always disavowed that, which only made us believe it even more.

"Number 46, Wheat Avenue," says the taxi driver as he pulls over to the side of the street. There's a nice size house with the number 46 on the gate post. This is where my parents live. Have to say, they've done well for themselves. It's got two stories, a porch, and a TV antenna on the roof. There are flowers in front of the porch. I recognize lilies, tulips, roses, and…rue. The plant I'm named after.

Garret pays the man and we heft our luggage up to the steps. "Garret, will you be staying with us?" I ask.

"If I can," he grunts. "If not, I can stay at a motel. I can just send the bill straight to Ms. Snow."

I wonder briefly what a motel is before dismissing the thought and going over to a far important matter: my parents. They had married the instant they no longer qualified for the reaping. I was their firstborn and when I had left, they were just a few months shy of 30 years old. They're in their mid-fifties. People usually don't have heart attacks at that age, though people younger than that have had them when suddenly terrified or surprised. What will my sudden arrival do? My parents encouraged me and my sisters to listen to Uncle Remus, but something tells me that they weren't that into it. Even if they're saved, I do not want to send one or both of them into the afterlife.

"Garret, maybe you should go in first, introduce yourself, and tell them carefully that their daughter that's been dead for the last quarter of a century is out on the porch."

He gives it some thought. "Good idea, Rue. Just get out of sight before I ring the doorbell." I nod and move behind a chair that's next to the door out of sight. Hope this works. He rings the bell and then waits. A moment later, the door opens and a familiar voice wafts out.

"May I help you?" My mother's voice is almost enough to make me jump out from my hiding place and hug her. The knowledge that I could give her a bad shock is the only thing that stops me. My mother, the woman who gave birth to me, who fed me, who tucked me in and called me "her little rue flower." The woman who cried silently when I had been reaped. How is she going to handle the return of her oldest daughter, who's still 12 years old?

"Ma'am, my name is Garret Weiss. I'm from here in 11."

"Ah yes, the Weiss boy. You went off to work in the Capitol about ten years ago, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered Garret. "I got a job as a guard at one of Charis Snow's projects. Just after the end of the war, they went around collecting bodies, particularly the bodies of those who died in the Rebellion and the Hunger Games all the way back to the 70th." I can almost hear my mother's silence. "We've had…a breakthrough with that project. May I come in and explain a bit more?"

A pause, then, "Come on in." Garret disappears inside and I slump to the ground. Oh boy, that was harder than I thought it was going to be.

I occupy myself with studying the flowers while Garret's inside. Across the street, I hear children laughing and glimpse some of them playing some odd game. They're so happy and carefree. How can things change so quickly here on Earth? Maybe it's just the 25 years in Heaven talking. Things change in Heaven too, but not so quickly and strangely. Then again, people have acclimated to this new Panem so it feels natural. I wonder if some of those playing kids are my nieces and nephews. They'll never know the monstrous thing that was the Hunger Games. And to think, my death in the arena helped to propel Katniss into a position to bring down the Games, President Snow, and the Capitol. I sigh. Well, I now have the chance to live a full life here on Earth in a happier, better Panem. And I fully intend to make it even better.

I hear the door open and look up. Garret nods at me. "You're up, short stuff," he says.

I inwardly groan at his nickname for me. "Okay," I say. A sudden thought comes to mind. "Goliath," I call him.

"Who?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Big, ugly man who got whacked by a rock to the head," I answer, grinning.

"Oh ha ha," he intones. I smile and turn my attention towards the interior of the house. My smile fades as I remember my parents. My mother who named me, my father who taught me to sing to the mockingjays. I remember their fear as I was reaped in the preliminary drawings, their horror and tears as I was truly reaped. How my sisters clustered around my mother as they came into the room and then broke their circle to gather around me. Now most of their children are older than me. And I've got two brothers that are older than me even though I was born before them. It's almost too much.

I stop. "Dear Lord," I whisper. "Just please take my pain away. It's all over now." I take a breath and then walk inside the door.

This place isn't the Capitol, that's certain. It's also nothing like my old home. The old house had an earthen floor, very little furniture, and no indoor plumbing. This, though, is a massive improvement. The floors are either linoleum or carpet, there's a small wood table in the entryway, and through a door, there's a room that's full of chairs and couches. Through another door, I catch a glimpse of a white, porcelain toilet. The walls are covered with pictures of my parents and siblings. I have to hold back tears as I watch my sisters grow up right before my eyes. They never had to know what I went through in the arena. Had the rebellion failed, Snow probably would've had a few of them put into the Games. Either that or execute them out right.

I continue on into the room with chairs and couches. There, sitting on one of them, is my mother. She's aged well in the 25 years I've been gone. Her figure has changed somewhat and there are a few wrinkles in her face, but she's definitely recognizable as my mother. She looks at me, unbelievingly. Twenty-five years ago, she sobbed in that little room with my sisters before I was taken to the train. Twenty-five years ago, I went to die in the arena. And now here I am, alive and well, changed in mind but not in body.

"Rue…" she whispers. Then she holds out her arms to me. I rush into them and hug her hard. I feel her kissing my forehead and hear her crying. I wasn't expecting to see her again until her death, and maybe not even then. I can't help but cry too.

After a few minutes of this, she releases me and I look up at her face. It's tear streaked and I know that mine is too.

"Rue, I can't tell you…how much we all missed you. When you died…it was like a piece of me died too. Everyone felt that way." She brightens. "Your father, your sisters, we have to tell them. Your father's will be back any minute from the store, and I can invite your sisters and brothers over for dinner to tell them."

I gasp with joy. "Mother, I would love that. How are they all doing? How are their families?"

She smiles through her tears. "They're doing well. You have two brothers now, as well as 18 nieces and nephews and 2, no, 3 more on the way. My word, some of them are as old as you." She stops at that and lets out a fresh burst of tears.

I know why. I should be grown-up with a family of my own too. Only it was taken from me 25 years ago. At least it's all over with now. "Mom, it's alright. The life that was stolen from me…I can live it now. And I know what's waiting for me at the end."

She looks at me quizzically. "Rue, what do you mean?"

Before I can answer, I hear the front door open. "Diane, I'm home," rumbles my father's voice. "I got the shrimp like you asked…who are you?" I look out into the entryway. My father, now sporting gray in his hair, is talking with Garret. This time I march out into the room.

It's a moment before he notices me. Garret is more noticeable than me in that he's a uniformed guard in his house. He glances at me and says, "One moment, Louise," and goes back to Garret. I'm surprised and am about to say something when he looks back to me suddenly. He bends down to look at me. "Louise, is that you?"

I shake my head. "No, it's me, Dad, Rue." He stares at me. What's it like, I wonder? To lose your first-born to other human's inhumanity, recover from the loss and move on, only to have your first child walk in the door decades later?

It's a combination of shock and happiness I decide, when he snaps out of his trance and hugs me hard, sobbing. Mom joins us and I wonder briefly what it'll be like when my seven siblings and eighteen nephews and nieces hear about me.

Garret's footsteps cause me to look up. He smiles and says, "I'll be at the motel. Just call if you need me, Rue."

"No," my mother says. "You can stay here. I didn't like giving Rue's body to that project but if you brought her back, anyone from there is welcome at my house."

He smiles. "Thank you ma'am. You've got quite the daughter there. She deserves better than she got the first time and she'll have it."

My dad lifts his tear-stained face up to thank him and then turns to me. "Rue, I swear, I would have taken your place if it was allowed. Letting you go up there, it broke my heart, little rue flower." Normally only mom calls me that, but I like it.

"I know, Dad. I know," I tell him. All of my sisters were younger than me, and besides, I wouldn't want any of them in the arena. I look at him quizzically. "Louise?"

"Your oldest niece. She looks just like you," he answers.

"I'll call your brothers and sisters and invite them for dinner and a surprise," Mom announces. "Jim, you'll have to go to the store again. A big dinner is in order."

"Aye, aye captain," laughs my father. "You want to come with, Rue?"

"Sure," I answer. Then I remember. "Dad, when I died, I went somewhere."

He looks at me. "You did." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yes." I take a breath and let it out. "I went to Heaven. I met your parents Laura and Hayseed, and your brother Jayce. They all love you and miss you."

He breaks down again. I can hear mom crying again and I notice Garret wiping something out of the corner of his eye.

"What about them, can they be brought back too?" my father hopefully asks Garret.

Garret shakes his head. "I'm sorry, sir. The device only works if the person is below age 40, and the body hasn't undergone much decomposition. Your daughter was relatively, uh, fresh when we got her, and the damage done to her body was relatively easy to repair. Your parents and brother are way past the decomposition limit. Besides, even then it doesn't always work. Besides Rue, we've only been able to bring back one person. I'm sorry."

My father took out a handkerchief and blew his nose in it. "It's all right. My little girl is back and I'm thankful for that. Thanks for bringing her home."

"You're welcome."

I pipe up. "Dad, tomorrow I need to go down to the orchard where I used to work. I need to get something from there. Also, does Martin's family still live here?"

"Yes, Martin's family still lives in 11. I take it he was up there too."

"Yes, he was, and it's only right that they know." We walk out to his car and climb inside. If someone had told me that I would one day ride in a car owned by my dad, I would have laughed right then and there.

"Dad, I have a lot of things to tell you and the others after dinner. Let's just say I'm on a mission. A mission from God."