Disclaimer: The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.
15
Aberdeen stands there all in black, making her white skin look so much paler. She strolls into the room, heavy black boots making dents in the thick carpet. Both Madison and I watch her in awe but not fear – not yet.
Aberdeen Snow had been lethal in the last Hunger Games which had involved the children of the government's top officials. Everybody knew she hadn't been picked out of a draw like everybody else – they had targeted her for being the granddaughter of President Snow. What everybody didn't know, however, was that President Snow liked to train his family too just in case they were threatened and alone without their bodyguards. Aberdeen killed most of the twenty-three other tributes in less than three days.
And then she disappeared. The fact that she was related to the evilest president that ever ruled Panem – as President Snow is now seen – made her hated anyway. The fact she had mercilessly killed children like her father had made her despised. Rumor has it, she went underground and, judging by the white of her skin, it seems the rumors have been true. But Aberdeen had been pale before. At sixteen she had paid to have her skin de-pigmented because she thought it looked good to match her surname. She was thrown into the arena a week later, practically glowing she was so pale.
"Plutarch, darling," she trawls in a voice that vaguely reminds me of Darcy Williams. "What did I tell you about keeping quiet about our arrangement?" She walks over to him, trailing her hand over his chest she circles him. Her eyes scare me. They are such a pale blue that it makes me wonder whether or not she is half-blind. The hand on the chest looks more like she's dominating him than being friendly. Plutarch swallows hard.
"I'm sorry, Miss," he says. "It was a slip of the tongue. It won't happen again."
"Too late," Aberdeen hisses. Plutarch gasps and looks at her in fear. "Tell me, Heavensbee," she spits. "What did you first do when Lilac was born?" He looks panicked like he can't even remember but she doesn't wait for an answer. "I can imagine any respectable father would count the fingers and the toes?" She raises her voice like a question. Plutarch suddenly lets out a sob but tries to keep his posture. "Next time daddy sees Lilac," Aberdeen smiles sickly sweet. "She might have a few missing."
Madison gives out a cry at that and I glare at Aberdeen with so much hatred, I can imagine her burning up in it.
"Well, since you started your little story," Aberdeen says, suddenly pleasant. "Why don't we continue?"
"Please no, Miss!" Plutarch begs. "I promise it won't happen again. Please don't."
I look up at Plutarch in confusion. Why does he sound like he is begging for his life?
"It all started twenty years ago," Aberdeen says, her voice sounding like she is reading to a group of toddlers. "I was eighteen and pissed that the Rebellion left my family with no power and no Grandfather." She looks at me, her face sympathetic. "Then again, at least I knew my grandfather." Her tone and her implication annoys me and I find myself lunging for her. My legs are still asleep though and I fall to the ground. She laughs though it sounds more like a cackle. I roll onto my back so I can see her.
"Putting me into that arena was the biggest mistake those damn victors could have made," she continues, perching on the edge of the desk. Her ridiculously short black skirt rides up to show even more of her ghastly pale thighs. "So, naturally, I want revenge." She pauses and smiles to her audience. I resist the urge to try and go after again. Plutarch is now standing with his head down as though he is expecting something.
"The plan started off simple. I'd get control of Panem again. That's all I ever wanted and I had loads of ways to do it." She walks over to me and hoists me up by the front of my shirt, throwing me back into the armchair with surprising strength. She smiles, lips painted in a deep red, to reveal two rows of perfectly whitened teeth. They look yellow compared to her skin though. "I could always kill the President and start a rebellion of my own," she muses, walking her fingers up my chest. What is she playing at? "But that sounded so boring and unoriginal." She rolls her eyes. "I could have gone down the prostitution route just like your daddy," she says, surprising me. "You wouldn't believe how many government officials would become your allies for just a few hours of your time."
"What did you say?" I ask, breathing deeply to control my anger. I'm split down the middle; half of me is so angry at her for taking a jibe at my father; the other half is frozen in shock at what she said, it seemed too random to be a jibe.
"Did Mommy not tell you?" Aberdeen asks with a dramatic gasp. Everything about her is so staged as though she's been planning this for a long time – because she has. She's had twenty years to work on this moment. "Daddy used to love the ladies," she giggles. "He was a user. Mind you," she adds, moving so she is straddling me. I focus on feeling her weight on legs; that shows the feeling is coming back into them, "You could be just the same. You look so much like him. It's a shame about the eyes though. He had the prettiest eyes and yours are nothing but a dull green."
"Shut up, Aberdeen," Madison hisses from beside us. We both turn to look at her, she is fuming. So am I when I realize by insulting my eyes she had insulted my mother's.
"Quiet, bitch," Aberdeen spits.
"Don't you dare talk to her like that," I find myself growling, sitting up so my face is inches from hers. She slaps me, her long nails dragging against my skin. I bite my tongue to hold in a cry as my cheek burns with pain.
"As I was saying," she continues with her sick little tale, thankfully getting off me, "I had plenty of ways to get what I wanted but then I remembered my favorite game when I was a little girl." She pauses as though for dramatic effect. "Puppets," she announces, beaming. "Did you enjoy being my puppet, Plutarch?"
Plutarch doesn't answer. He's clearly been around her enough to know when and when not to answer her stupid little questions. I feel bad for every bad thing I've ever thought about him. Katniss was right; Plutarch is a loyal man. He had endured years of this to save his family. It's just a shame he wasn't loyal to the right thing; that he didn't care about the people who were going to die because of it all.
Plutarch had no choice. He was going to lose right away. He did what he thought was right by protecting his family and serving Aberdeen. I have to respect him for that.
"By holding his family hostage I could do with Plutarch what I wanted. And what I wanted was simple; to be the President. Having the Head of Communications at my beck and call would easily secure me a place as the most powerful woman in the country. But then all these new people started to arrive; the immigrants and I thought that instead of being the most powerful woman in the country, I could be the most powerful woman in the world.
"They say, before the Big War, there were plenty of books with stories about villains trying to take over the world," she says, changing her train of thought. "I don't know whether I believe it or not. If there were so many stories like that out there then why did nobody try them? Hm?" She giggles. "The Hunger Games was all my idea, Fin," she tells me as though I am a stupid child. "You all either blamed Paylor or Plutarch just as I planned and now I will take over the President's chair – after more than twenty years of planning."
She rubs a white hand over her white skin. "Of course, living underground all these years did have its disadvantages."
"You can't become the President," I say, "You have to be elected by the public."
"Unless the previous President's will says otherwise," Aberdeen reminds me. Plutarch swallows loudly but doesn't sob. Aberdeen pouts at him. "Poor Plutarch," she patronizes, "Did you really think you would be getting yourself out of this? Your family should already be six feet under by now. Why don't you join them? I hear people don't last too long when they're choking on dirt." Plutarch can't hold back his next sob. Neither can Madison and I at the thought of Aberdeen and her guards burying people alive.
Both of us are unprepared when Aberdeen throws Plutarch to the ground with surprising force. The man has lost the will to fight and I don't blame him. I hope he goes quickly when Aberdeen's sharp heel comes down onto his neck. The sound of bone snapping echoes around the room and blood pours out of the gaping wound, staining the carpet a deeper red.
Madison is taking shaky breaths; I'm in shock. And Aberdeen isn't finishes just yet.
"Behold," she cackles, stepping off Plutarch's body and holding her white arms in the air, "Your new President Snow!"
As if on cue, six burly guards I have never seen before storm into the room and stand at attention awaiting her orders. Even though most of them have changed over the years, I vaguely recognize them as the other children of the government officials – the ones who escaped the Reaping but lost friends and siblings. Aberdeen had been right about one thing; holding that last Hunger Games had been the biggest mistake ever. I wonder what my mother had voted on it. I can't look down on her if she had voted yes – not after all I've done.
"Strip the girl down," Aberdeen orders.
"What?" I cry as Madison screams in protest when three guards grab her and start pulling at her clothes.
"Calm down, Fin," she smiles. "You'll get your turn." The other three guards hold me down. Even if all the feeling had returned to my legs, I never would be able to stop the others.
"Twenty-three lashes," Aberdeen drawls as though she is bored, "One for all the tributes who died in the last Hunger Games. And then send them to the cells where they can rot. Fin's already dead to the public; Madison killed Plutarch so she'll never see the light of day again. Like father like daughter, eh?" Madison screams again though this time in anger. "That was me too by the way. I threatened Mawden's head that time."
I don't know how but I'm aware that Mawden is – or was – Plutarch's wife.
Naked, Madison is held by two guards as one produces a whip from his belt and flicks her bare skin with it. She screams in agony. Those are three different screams from her that I never want to hear again. I'm aware of hot tears running down my face. I try to turn away but even that can't muffle her screams, and the image of blood seeping out of that first cut is burned into my memory.
"Hopefully she'll pass out soon," Aberdeen shrugs, pausing as she waits for Madison to stop screaming again. "And she won't have to endure watching yours."
She grins evilly again and cocks her head the side, looking me over. "Just be thankful your mother killed herself when she did, Fin," she says, "Because otherwise things would be so much worse."
(*)
The cell is cold against my bare skin. I'm conscious for a second to register that fact before the lights go out again.
I'm six years old and looking through the crack in the door at who my mommy is talking to. It's a tall lady dressed in black with hair so light blonde it looks white.
"I don't care how you do it," she is saying calmly. "Just get rid of yourself."
"What will you do to him?" Mommy says, sounding scared. I want to help her but she told me to wait outside. I don't want to make her more upset by letting her know I am disobeying her orders.
"It won't be as bad as what I will do if you don't go," the white lady says it as though she's promising something.
"He'll thank you for it you know," the white lady continues, "Not that you'll be around for him to thank but when he has all the power he wants, he'll be grateful that his mother got herself out of the picture when she did."
"But-" Mommy is trying to speak but the other lady won't let her.
"You have two years before I come and kill you both."
I hurry away from the door and back out onto the deck as the other lady turns and heads in my direction. I pretend I haven't heard anything. I don't know what they're talking about anyway.
Grown-ups say the silliest of things.
I don't know how long I'm out for but when I come to, I notice somebody is watching me through the bars of the cell I inhabit.
"Where's Madison?" I ask between gasps for breath. Days must have passed because my body feels weak and malnourished. My throat is like sandpaper.
"We've got her." I start at the familiarity of the voice, and look up to find Britney staring down at me. Her eyes show unshed tears. She blinks and one escapes. "Let's get you out of here, Fin."
"How?" I ask. "I thought you were working for Aberdeen."
"I didn't know she was involved," Britney says honestly, "Only Plutarch knew about her."
"She killed my mother," I say bluntly, remembering the repressed memory that came to light when I was unconscious.
"It wouldn't surprise me," Britney says. The lights go dim again and I'm aware of Britney calling for somebody. I can hear the lock on my cell door clunking against the metal of the bars.
I think of Madison and how Britney told me they'd got her. She's safe. She's going to be okay. The pain from the lashes is no longer present in my body. I feel like I'm flying. Despite being naked on the cold floor, I feel warm and safe.
If this is what it feels like to die then who am I to complain?