I'm staring at the monitor that had shown the close up on Rafe's weapon and it feels as if I have just been pushed from a cliff. His interview from only last night plays over and over in my mind. "I don't see that cutting up a person will be that much different from butchering a pig," he had said. And he has found his weapon of choice…
I tear my eyes away from Rafe's screen and search dad out again. He is making slow progress through the trees and away from the beach, probably searching for water like I advised. I turn back to the screen that shows the entire arena again and frown slightly. Aside from the sea, there appears to be no water sources at all anywhere in the arena. This cannot be the case. There has to be something, somewhere…
Katniss nudges me gently with her elbow and I look up. The room has filled with other people; all dressed in Capitol attire with their bizarre colourful appearances. Some are looking at the monitors with interest, others are mingling by the bar. A large electronic board has lit up showing the odds on each tribute, and some are studying this intently. "Sponsors, do you think?" she whispers to me. She must surely be right. Will this be the only way I can get water to my dad? No. There must be an alternative source somewhere in there. They wouldn't want all the tributes to die of dehydration – there would be no "fun" in that for the Capitol.
In the centre of the room is a large holographic table which shows a 3-D map of the entire arena. Red dots labelled with a name and District number show the exact whereabouts of each tribute in relation to each other. A few other victors are studying the map with keen interest and I join them, seeking dad out as quickly as I can. After a few seconds I spy him; in the north-west of the map, just thirty or forty yards in to the tree-line. I look at the map surrounding him closely. No lakes, no streams, no pools, not even a puddle in sight. Just the vast expanse of ocean sea water. Maybe there is some way of removing the salt? Making the sea drinkable?
"You spotted the problem?" Haymitch has appeared beside me, glass in hand, as he stares down at the map of this arena.
"No drinking water," I reply, still scanning everywhere rapidly, hoping I've missed something.
He raises his glass to me as if toasting me. "Well spotted. Hey, sweetheart!" he calls to Katniss, indicating she should come closer. He steers both of us away from the map for a moment and lowers his voice. "There will be water. We just need to figure out where to look." He points towards one of the Capitol women who stood leaning by the bar, an elaborate drink in her hand, gazing up at a large screen showing the selected footage being broadcast to Panem. "You see that woman? Damiana Ivory. Her brother is one of the gamemakers. She usually knows most of the arena's secrets."
I steel my resolve, take a deep breath and head towards her, but I haven't gone two steps before Haymitch pulls me back, "Woah, kid, what are you doing?"
"I'm going to ask her where it is."
"Just like that? And you think she'll just part with information like that? You need to play her. Flatter her, appeal to her ego. Look." He nods his head back in the direction of Damiana Ivory. Finnick is already next to her. He's taken her hand in one of his own and raised it to his lips. He orders her another of those elaborate cocktails, tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, and in no time at all she is giggling like a little school girl. He leans in to her and whispers something in her ear and she playfully pushes him away. He offers her a winning smile and kisses her hand once again before leaving her to the screens. "Finnick will most likely get it out of her first. He'll be able to send something to one of his tributes, we keep an eye on them, we find out where the water is."
There are too many "what ifs" in this scenario. Dad could be dead of dehydration before any of that happens. I'm going to have to take matters in to my own hands to get this done. Swallowing my pride I take another step towards her, only to be pulled back once more. "Peeta, trust me. You don't want to find yourself indebted to too many of these people."
"If Finnick can do it-"
"Do you really think Finnick's life is something to be envious of?"
I am about to protest again but Katniss steps in first. "Leave it with me."
No. If anyone is going to be indebted, it's going to be me. "I won't let you," I say.
"Trust me," she smiles. Instead of walking towards Damiana Ivory she heads straight to Finnick Odair. I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy towards him as she introduces herself. I know it is stupid to be jealous, especially now I know the reason for his reputation as a Lothario but I can't help the knot that appears in my stomach, nor the twinges of annoyance as he appears to be flirting with her. Thankfully she isn't returning the gesture; she appears even more annoyed with Finnick's flirting as I am.
Haymitch has walked back to the arena map and is surveying everything in front of him. As I watch Katniss and Finnick talking with my jaw set, I notice an unwelcome presence has entered the room. Briar is making herself very comfortable on one of the choicest armchairs, a glass of champagne in one hand which she sips at leisurely while watching one of the screens. Her presence unnerves me. I knew she would be here, Haymitch said about her being highly influential in the games the morning after my first encounter with her, but seeing her here still terrifies me.
"Peeta." I hear Haymitch's voice, but between watching Katniss, Finnick and Briar my conscious is elsewhere. "Peeta!" His voice is much more urgent and it snaps me back to the present. I run to his side, panic almost overwhelming me, and there is concern in his eyes. He points at the map and I quickly find the red dot that indicates my father. Moving towards it at a fair speed is a dot labelled 'Esme Pinewood 7.' I turn to the monitors and quickly find my father, still moving slowly through the trees. I look for the screens showing the tributes from District 7. Esme is the adult female, and she is moving rapidly and lightly through the jungle, a long, curved dagger held in her right hand. The gap between them is rapidly closing and dad seems entirely unaware he is being hunted.
"Please, dad," I whisper, and I feel Haymitch steering me towards a chair. I grip the back of it to steady myself. Fear freezes me to the spot and keeps me from looking away.
Fifteen yards between them…. My heart races painfully fast….Ten yards, and he still hasn't noticed…. I'm forgetting to breathe….Five yards and finally Esme makes a mistake. A misplaced foot and a branch snaps loudly drawing my father's attention. He spins on the spot as she realises her mistake and launches herself at him, bringing the dagger down hard and fast towards his face. He catches her arm and stops the dagger inches from his face and I see the fear apparent in Esme's eyes as she realises he is too strong for her. She struggles to bring the knife in to contact with his body, but he easily spins her around, twisting her arm behind her back and pulling the knife from her hand. She cries out as she realises she has lost.
Seeing the anguish in my father's eyes, I feel as if I am intruding on something terribly private. He leans in to her, tells her he is sorry, then brings his arm around her throat. But he doesn't stab her with her own dagger, or snap her neck, or strangle her; he is using a sleeper hold on her. She quietly falls unconscious, and dad seems unsure of what to do with her. He picks her up, and carries her back towards the beach. I think he must mean to leave her where someone else can find her.
I keep one eye on the screen showing him and turn back towards the arena map.
There are a couple of other tributes not far from the pair of them; the woman from Eight, the woman from Ten, the man from Four, and the girl from Six are all just a few minutes away from them, and while dad carries the prone figure of Esme Pinewood there is little he can do to defend himself. "Come on, dad, get out of there," I whisper.
He finally reaches the beach, and sits Esme up against a tree. He apologises to her once again and swiftly heads back in to cover. I finally feel able to breathe and collapse shaking in a chair. It doesn't take long before the District Four tribute finds her. He looks confused as if this is some kind of trap, but draws a knife across her throat before running back in to cover. The canon fires and on screen I see my father turn around and look in the direction he had left her, his eyes racked with guilt. A slender pair of arms snake their way around me from behind, and I reach up to pull Katniss closer, then jump out of my skin when I realise the arms around me don't belong to her. "Whisky. Double. You definitely owe me now." I spin around and am face to face with a mentor I recognise as Johanna Mason, who won a few years back. "Twelve took out our boy, and your old man left our chick for dead. You owe me a drink."
"Get your claws off him," Haymitch's voice drifts in, but it lacks any bite.
"Awww, come on Haymitch, I'm two tributes down and not a single one of you has bothered trying to console me."
"Hey, at least you're still doing better than Rudolphus. He's already lost three."
More of this attitude that the mentors don't really care if their tributes live or die. Maybe they don't. Not when they have come to learn that still being alive doesn't necessarily mean you've won.
I need Katniss. I need her to ground me. I need her comfort and her warmth. She is still talking to Finnick, her arms folded tightly across her chest, two slight pink spots on her cheeks. Whether she is flushed from anger or embarrassment is difficult to tell. As I walk away from Johanna I hear her call after me, "Whisky! Double!" Ignoring her request I head straight for Katniss, slipping my arm around her possessively when I approach her.
"Awww. Cute," smirks Finnick at the pair of us. "I was just having a rather lovely chat with your missus, Peeta."
"He's not going to help us, let's just go," says Katniss, anger seething beneath the surface.
Finnick smiles widely. "You really need to learn to keep her under control. I can teach you a few tricks, if you like."
"I don't need to learn anything from you, thank you," I retort.
"I think it's painfully obvious that you do, Peeta," he replies with a hint of sadness.
I feel my own face flushing furiously as I take Katniss's hand and stride away from him. The double entendre was far too close to the bone for my liking. "What did he mean by that?" she asks me.
"Nothing," I reply.
"That didn't sound like nothing, Peeta. What did he mean?"
"Please, just… drop it, Katniss. It doesn't matter."
She nods and doesn't press me further for which I am grateful. She gently touches the side of my face and draws me in to a delicate kiss which leaves my heart fluttering. She pulls away, leaving me breathless for more.
She is looking past me and frowning slightly. "We're being watched," she says and I turn and see Briar eyeing us both while lazily sipping at her champagne. "You ok?" she asks me and I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat and nod tightly. "She's the one who-?"
"Yes," I interrupt before she can finish her sentence.
"Ignore her," she says, cupping my face and bringing my gaze to meet hers. "She doesn't own you, remember that."
She kisses me again, deeper this time, enveloping me in her arms. Her fingers gently play with the hair at the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I pull her close to me, desperate for every inch of her body to be next to mine.
When we part, Katniss glances quickly towards Briar and back to me. I risk looking at her too, expecting to see fury, or at the very least annoyance or even jealousy written across her features. Instead she just looks mildly interested as she continues to sip at her drink.
"Oi Peeta!" Johanna Mason's voice rings out across the room, "Put the bird down and get me my whisky, I'm dying of thirst over here!"
She plants one last, fluttering kiss on my lips before returning to join Haymitch in his vigil of the monitors. I head to the bar and order Johanna's whisky, another for Haymitch, hot chocolate for Katniss and tea for myself.
I look over at the board which shows the current odds for each remaining tribute and quickly count down who remains. Eighteen tributes have fallen already, thirty remaining, including the two that frighten me the most, for very different reasons.
The excitement levels in the bar suddenly seem to rise to a fever pitch. Large sums of money exchange hands as fresh bets are placed. I carry the tray bearing the drinks back, spilling some in my hastiness to understand what has caused this excitement.
My heart sinks when I see who is causing the fresh round of bloodlust. Rafe has tracked down two tributes, the girl from Eight and the boy from Six. It looks as though they may have teamed up to bring him down together. But he moves as if the cleaver is an extension of his own arm, raining blows down upon any flesh that he can reach. I turn away from the screens and am almost overcome with nausea. Sponsors will probably be lining up to help him after such a bloody display.
Only a few hours in and already I feel like I need a break. I have to get away from these Capitol monsters and their overwhelming desire for death.
There is a balcony that overlooks the city and I head outside, my need for fresh air overpowering. I grip the edge of the balcony, worried that if I let go I may fall over the edge.
"I could help you, you know." I grip the balcony even tighter. That voice belonged to the one person who would be sure to make me feel worse. I don't trust myself to say anything. "I could send him a means of getting water, food, anything."
Haymitch's words from earlier replay in my mind. " You don't want to find yourself indebted to too many of these people." I swallow my fear and my pride. "What would you want from me?"
She smiles, cold and hard. "I'm glad we understand each other. I'm sure I could think of something to do with you."
I close my eyes and I see Rafe killing those two children, and I imagine my father in their place. I don't see that I have a choice. My mouth is entirely dry as I whisper, "Help him."
"And what will you do for me?"
I pause for breath, and the words take a great effort to come from me. "Anything."
A/N – Wow. This was hard to write. Not sure how well publicised the murder was outside the UK, but the soldier murdered in broad daylight with meat cleavers in Woolwich? Well, it happened pretty much on my doorstep two days after the last update. Not sure how easy writing scenes with Rafe is going to be for a while after that, to be honest. It's just a little too 'close to home,' if you catch my drift :(
Anyway, I will try and plough through, but it might be a while, describing a kid killing people in a manner I could have actually witnessed if I'd left work early isn't an appealing prospect. Sorry to keep you hanging.