Smooth Criminal

We had agreed to meet early in the morning the next day. He would drive over to my penthouse and together we would make the trek. I left his office late; the sun had long since vanished. I spent the night recalling theories and guesses about the people I was to meet. Or rather, become reacquainted with.

My alarm clock rang loudly in the morning. I grumbled and turned, one hand under my silk pillow. I felt hazy, my eyes were shut, and my neck cracked a bit. Then I caught a strange smell. My eyes shot open in panic. What is that? Fire? Smoke?

I scrambled out of the bed, tying my robe as I went. The kitchen did not look smoky. In fact, there was no sign of smoke anywhere in the penthouse. I continued my search, expanding into the living room. The coffee maker sat at attention, beeping gently with a fine brew rising.

"But how?" I questioned the coffee maker.

"Do you often question your appliances? Or is it just this morning in particular?" a voice rang out.

I spun around to see Seneca sitting on the couch, one leg crossed, with a steaming mug in his hand. He wore a simple vest and red undershirt. He smiled gently as I crossed over to him.

"What is this? Who let you in?" I breathed.

"When you're the Head Gamemaker, you can indefinitely get anything you want," he grinned fiercely.

While his comment would normally have me swooning as of late, it caught me off guard. I couldn't help but picture the note and the roses. Was it him leaving these odd trinkets? I stared at him intently, my eyes blazing with confusion and anger.

"Hey now, Effie," he changed his demeanor, "I'm sorry if I came in uninvited."

"Answer me honestly," I enunciated every word "Is this the first time you have snuck in here?"

"Yes," he responded cautiously, "If I am overstepping my boundaries, I will gladly leave."

He stood up and placed his coffee mug on my table. He shot me a curious glance as he reached for his overcoat. I raised my hand to my mouth and bit gently on my thumbnail.

"I guess I will be seeing you around," he called over his shoulder.

"Someone has been breaking in."

He spun around and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"And you think it's me?"

It was a question, not an accusation. However, it stung like the latter.

"How should I know? They've been leaving cryptic messages and roses. I just want to be on my guard," I answered, looking at the ground.

Seneca walked back over, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. He moved past and pulled another coffee mug from a cabinet. After pouring in some delicious smelling coffee, he handed me the mug.

"I think you are overreacting. Here, drink some coffee," he sat next to me.

Fury built up inside me. I wanted to reach over and slap him. Instead, I raised the mug to my lips and inhaled the substance. Seneca reached down and grabbed a pen out of his vest. He began to scribble something on the palm of his hand.

It's not safe here. Drink the coffee. Then, let's get out quick.

I took note of his message and calmly proceeded to drink. He quickly rubbed his hands together after I nodded that I had received his message. I should have known better than to suspect Seneca. He stood up and grabbed his mug. He proceeded to wash his dish in my sink.

"Well, I am sorry that you are so angry at me. I hope this doesn't interfere with our plans today," he called out to me.

"Oh right. Where exactly are we going?" I spoke out from behind the rim of the cup.

"Surprise. Hand me your mug and I will wash it while you get dressed," he responded.

I crossed to him, handing him my mug. His palms were clean, no writing to be seen. He winked, and I smiled. I got dressed quickly, choosing a simple sundress and blue flats. I grabbed my purse with all my necessaries and closed my bedroom door.

"Are we ready?" he asked with eagerness.

"Yes," I nodded.

I took note of the rooms in their state, willing myself to memorize even the insignificant details. I wanted to immediately spot any differences for my return. Seneca guided me out of the room, locking the door firmly behind him.

When we reached his car, he opened the passenger door and gestured for me to sit. I got in and fastened my seatbelt. Seneca jumped over the door and started the car. We sped away from the penthouse at a great speed.

"What was that all about?" I asked when we were a reasonable distance away.

"Your apartment has been bugged. Why didn't you say anything earlier?" he asked.

"I didn't think it important. What do you mean bugged?" I responded with wary.

"It's President Snow. That's his trademark, the roses. He must have snuck into your penthouse and set up microphones or video cameras or something," Seneca explained.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," Seneca turned to look at me, "he has been after us for years."

I faced forward, trying to take in this bit of information. Seneca sounded so sincere.

"That's how all this began," he continued on, "Your change, I mean."

"What?" I looked at him again.

He was silent for a moment. His hands gripped the wheel tighter as we headed away from the City Circle.

"A long time ago, we stumbled across a secret. We being you, your brother, my sister, and me. We found out that your father had written an essay demeaning the Hunger Games. It threatened the whole position of the Games, the presidency, and the Capitol itself. We set out to find the essay and confront Snow. One night, you and I had a bit of a disagreement and you set off for Snow on your own. We never saw you again, until you showed up for orientation."

I saw images of the mansion. The confrontation. The essay. Everything became clearer, except the words Seneca said. His description did not match my images.

"Why can't I remember?" I quietly asked.

"He must have hijacked you. The process erases memories by writing over them with more painful stimulations," he explained.

"How long?"

"How long what?" he asked.

"How long was I in there? How long did you leave me with him? How long did you abandon me?" I raged.

He became very quiet. I glared at him with anger radiating from every pore. A single tear dropped out of his eye. I did not care. He deserved every bad feeling that he was now experiencing.

"A very long time," he finally responded, "6 years."

"You left me there with him. You abandoned me for 6 whole years," I reiterated.

"Effie, there was nothing I could do. They were going to kill my family. Your family," he stated.

I simply stared at him.

"They came to my house. They threatened me. I told them 'go ahead, do your worst'. They told me that they knew where Venia and Alfie lived. She was pregnant, Effie, with our nephew. I couldn't do anything without risking their lives. My sister, your brother, parents, our nephew. Nothing. So I waited it out."

"Is that why you became so bitter?" I asked quietly.

"Yes. I put myself into my work and soon became Head Gamemaker. I wanted to see people suffer. I hated the President, but I hated myself more. Anger fuels hate and hate is a very powerful thing. I wanted everything to burn."

"I never knew," I whispered, "Seneca, I am so sorry."

"No, Effie. I am sorry. We could have done more. I could have done more. It was my fault you left in the first place. I proposed to you and you declined."

As his words came to me, I saw it. He stood there on his balcony, allowing me to break his heart. The pain etched across his features. I could not think of a thing to say. We rode in silence for many minutes. The landscape turned to hills and trees from buildings and streets.

"Seneca," I tried.

"We're here," he responded, turned off the car, and exited.