"Peeta, we talked about this."
I stare intently at Dr. Lichten, wanting to follow what he says, trying not to anger him. My head is always so foggy, my thoughts are frustratingly slow to come together. "I know," I reply, "I know, but, I think she tried to help me in the stream. I think she came to get me?" Dr. Lichten has been coming to see me for a few weeks now. He talks to me about Katniss, helps me when I start to lose control. His uncle, Beetee, was a traitor who tried to kill me with an electrical trap in the arena, but Dr. Lichten helps me. He helps me understand.
"Of course she did, Peeta," he says reasonably, and I watch his mouth when he talks, trying to cement his words in my mind so I stop forgetting things so much. They were showing me a tape of my first Games and they had to get Dr. Lichten because I got so confused I lost control of myself. I see Katniss kissing me, tending to my injuries, wrapped in my arms. And I see her sabotaging me, plotting against me, trying to kill me. And I see her change into a burning, winged creature of nightmare that sets everything I care about ablaze.
Dr. Lichten continues, "The rules were changed so two tributes from the same district could be victors. If she had tried to go home without even pretending to help you, she'd have been shunned by the entire district. They love you back home, they know she's wanted you dead ever since you were reaped against her. Remember when she tried to poison you with the berries?"
My neck twitches my head sideways, and I clench my shoulder blades together. The flutter of fear in my belly, always hovering when I think about Katniss, blooms into crashing panic and I leap, screaming, against the shackles at my wrists. Dr. Lichten flinches back, but the guard steps forward and locks his arms around my throat until I'm gasping for breath and flailing weakly. He releases me slowly, keeping his hand on my throat, until he sees I'm back in command of myself.
"I'm sorry," I croak.
Dr. Lichten turns to the other man who often accompanies him. They have conversations I don't understand, but the guard uses his club when I question them, so I've learned to wait quietly. "He got too big of a dose that time, it took us so long to figure it out. Interesting that his reaction to when she actually endangered him is so swift, but he was just moments ago trying to defend her."
The other man nods, "Yes, the memories that are most discordant are hardest to alter. And he sees everything about her through such damn rosy glasses. Try another large dose, this isn't going quickly enough for the President."
"The President doesn't understand how difficult this is," Dr. Lichten snaps irritably.
"The President was told you could deliver," drawls a new voice from outside the open cell door. Head Peacekeeper Thread stands with his hand on his holster and a sneer on his face. "You guys aren't moving nearly as quickly as my team did," he says with pride. "Look at him," he scoffs, tilting his chin toward me scornfully. His eyes soften slightly as he stares at me. "He lasted a lot longer than I thought he would, though. It's hard to find someone who cracks easier when you play with someone else in their name." I bring my trembling hands up to my face and cover my eyes, chains ringing as I shake. Selt and Lyra scream when they're on the table, but Portia stared them down in silence. Until they took her thumb. Thread laughs when Dr. Lichten gags at the memory, he saw it as well. He explained to me how Katniss had arranged with her rebel allies to alter her wedding gown so instead of a symbol of her connection to me, it had burned away at the interview into a symbol of her allegiance to them. How she had framed Cinna and Portia for the treason.
I see her in my memory in the gown, sparkling and twinkling in the light. The vision of the dress sparks a memory and I frown over it. Why would it make me think of the beach? Of oysters? That makes no sense, as is true of so many of my memories. I shake my head to clear it, of the sandy beach and Portia's screams. I don't have to watch others hurt very often anymore. I try to do what Dr. Lichten asks so I don't have to watch others.
The cuff on Thread's wrist beeps and he turns away, having a short conversation. He turns back and his face is angry. I shrink into myself, anger for him almost always means pain for me. "You have to clean him up," he growls at Dr. Lichten. "President Snow wants him upstairs right away."
Dr. Lichten and his colleague protest, complaining I'm in no condition to talk to the President and I shake my head mutely in agreement. I rub my wrists against the shackles, the sharp pain helping me stay in the present even though I can feel the pull of the fear. My neck twitches as I fight to stay in control of myself.
"Enough," Thread barks. "Upstairs now!"
A pair of guards come inside and grab me, hustling me to the shower room where they attach my shackles to the wall. Stripping off my filthy clothes, they blast the water at me while scrubbing with a hard bristled brush until my skin stings from the scratches. They have me dress quickly and before I know it I'm standing, dazed and silent, outside the study of President Snow. Thread stands guard and Dr. Lichten is beside me, muttering to his companion in a troubled whisper.
"He's nowhere near ready," he complains. "I can't pinpoint triggers or intensity, his loyalty is still very high and his overall effectiveness is very low due to his health." I begin to shake and sweat. Dr. Lichten is clearly disappointed in me and I don't know what I've done wrong. He notices and turns to me in disgust. "Look at him!" he cries in frustration.
The door swings open and a guard steps back, inviting us inside. President Snow is seated on the edge of his desk, one leg swinging as he watches a small screen in his hands. He snaps it off when we come in and stands to regard me from under drooping eyelids. "Stand up straight," Dr. Lichten hisses.
"This is what all your research and promises have bought for me?" Snow asks in quiet disdain.
"Sir, please," Dr. Lichten pleads. "We're just beginning the process. Our progress is slower than we'd hoped, yes, he's very stubborn. But there is progress."
Snow lifts an eyebrow. "And Thread is unable to help with stubbornness?"
"Not this type, no sir." Dr. Lichten shakes his head. "We have to attack each individually, and carefully, and with purpose. It's remarkable. We've been working for weeks and he still only reacts with fear, no aggression. We'd anticipated almost full conversion by this point, but we just can't turn him against her."
I can feel my mouth hanging open and I watch his lips as I struggle to make sense of what he's saying. I know I'm not performing as he hoped, but I don't know what I'm not doing right. I don't know why he's upset, and that's bad because that leads to pain for someone. I can only hope I've brought it on myself this time, and not someone else because I can't force my brain to function.
"Why does he look like that?" the President asks with aversion. "He looks like he'll drool at any moment, what am I supposed to do with that?"
Dr. Lichten nudges me sharply in the ribs, finding the cracked one, and I wince but quickly pull myself up straight. "Sorry," I whisper.
"We keep him on a low dose of hexahydro, so he remains complacent, but malleable. Once he figured out what the venom was doing he would fight us, reciting recipes or chanting your na – uh, that is, uh, even knocking himself unconscious every time we injected him before it could alter any memories effectively. This way it makes it difficult for him to think clearly, but leaves him very open to suggestion."
"So can you do it or not?" Snow demands impatiently.
"Yes, sir, absolutely. We just need more time. A week, maybe two. Three at the outside."
Snow waves his hand dismissively. "It may not matter anyway. We've had a slightly unanticipated event and I need him to counter it. Can he be lucid and reliable for cameras by this evening?"
Dr. Lichten pales and stutters, "Uh, this – this evening? Cameras? What would he need to do?"
"I need him to undermine her influence, restate the need for them to stop fighting us. Can he do it?" Snow looks at me intently, doubt dripping from his gaze.
Drawing in a deep breath and blowing it out slowly, Dr. Lichten shrugs resignedly. "We won't know unless we try."
The room I'm brought into looks familiar, as if from a dream I can't quite remember. It doesn't have the shiny, sparkly look as it does in my mind, but I do recall the deck of cards on the desk, and the barred windows, and the small woman who…my mind judders and the room spins and tilts around me. I fall to my knees and clutch my head, my breathing ragged and my heart racing. A guard springs forward and slams me onto my face in the carpet, his knee planted on my neck and my shackled wrists pinned behind my back.
Dr. Lichten cries an exasperated, "Fantastic! How is he going to go on camera? Who knows what will trigger him?"
His companion shakes his head in agreement, but continues his work at his bag of medicines and syringes without pause. I squeeze my eyes shut and count up by threes to calm myself, the guard remaining on top of me. Finally, I hear footsteps next to my face, and then the sharp bite of a needle followed by a cold numbness spreading through my veins. My muscles unclench and I go limp. The guard steps away and I try to drag my eyes open, but thick blackness closes over me.
My head is splintered and throbbing. The light glares through my screwed up eyelids and pounds into my brain. My throat is a desert and swallowing is fire. My limbs are sand and my bones are jelly. I'm slumped in a deep, plush chair and my face is tipped forward onto the arm, which is catching a spreading pool of drool. I grip my hands in my hair, trying to keep my head from shattering as I pull myself upright and stare around me. I can't get my bearings. I've been surrounded by nothing but white walls for so long, all the color and texture is riotous and suffocating.
Dr. Lichten, seeing I'm awake, hurries over and peers into my eyes, holding my eyelids open and leaning in close. "Oh, very good," he mutters. "All cleaned out, I think. On to step two."
"What was step o – ow!" A sharp jab in the back of my neck and I begin to shudder violently. I'm restrained from behind, someone is holding my shoulders, or I'd shake right out of the chair. My teeth clatter together and my heels drum on the floor. My stomach clenches and I heave its meager contents onto the rug. It seems an eternity, but when the spasm passes, I sag backward in the chair, my lungs pulling air desperately and my vision wavering in and out of focus, trying to make sense of where I am.
"Water?" Dr. Lichten hands me a glass and I sniff at it before lifting it to my lips. "Suspicion!" he crows, like I'm a trained dog in a circus act and I've finally learned my new trick. "Oh, that's very good. Do keep the gun on him, please."
I look over my shoulder to see the barrel of the guard's weapon right next to my ear. "Step three?" I ask in a cracked whisper.
Dr. Lichten looks immensely relieved. "Oh, this is wonderful. Do you know where you are? How do you feel? Do you know why you're here?"
I ignore him, holding my hands in front of me. They won't stop shaking. There's a low buzz of alarm in my belly and a tension in my hairline. "Why am I here?" I ask, my voice splintering.
Dr. Lichten nods to the guard and he clips restraints on my wrists, fastening them behind my back and keeping a grip on them. "Well," the doctor begins hesitantly, "I want to talk to you about Katniss for a moment, if that's alright." I shudder violently, clenching my jaw and my nails digging into my palms. "You have the chance to speak to the people holding her. Maybe even to Katniss herself, if they let her see it." He watches me warily, looking ready for flight. "What – what would you think of that, Peeta?"
I try to decide what I think about it, but the door swings open and Head Peacekeeper Thread marches though. "So?" he barks. "Is he ready? We're about set up."
"I don't know," Lichten frets, "I need more time!"
"So what else is new?" Thread grunts. "Let's go. Worst case scenario, I shoot him on camera. And that's not so bad."
The manacles are unfastened and I'm hauled upright. I rub my wrists with trembling hands, trying to get my thoughts together and keep my feet under me as I'm dragged down the hallway. I must have been dressed while I was unconscious, I'm wearing a stylish Capitol suit and my face is stiff from makeup. My mind reels, trying to cope with all the stimuli after weeks of nothing but white walls and screaming to focus on.
Back to the room with the lights, the cameras, the buzzing energy. I flinch to see Caesar Flickerman seated and waiting in one of the chairs, but it's nothing compared to his reaction when he sees me. His hand flies to his mouth and his eyes grow wide and tearful. But only for an instant. His voice trembles when he greets me, but he coughs once and after that, it's impossible to tell he's rattled at all. The consummate showman.
The cameraman cues us in and I shift in my chair, trying to ease the position of my cracked rib. Caesar asks me a few questions, clearly on edge that he'll allude to something he shouldn't talk about. I'm equally wary of saying anything that will bring violent retribution to anyone else. Lichten sees me starting to get anxious and makes a "move it along" gesture to Caesar.
"Peeta," he begins earnestly. "There are rumors that Katniss is taping propaganda spots for the insurgency. That she is presenting herself as the hero of the rebellion."
Would she do that? Would she trade on her fame from the arena to ask people to fight for her? Would she ask anyone to die for her? My chest contracts around the empty space that used hold her. The amputated tether that used to keep me grounded and certain, a shattered connection that now only drifts in emptiness, with no answering tug from the other end. I don't know.
"They're using her obviously," I reply after a somewhat too long pause. Lichten relaxes a little back into his stance. "To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake." My voice sounds hollow and stark to my ears.
"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?" Caesar prods. I look to him, and I can see the emptiness echo in his eyes. He understands what's been lost. What she took.
"There is," I say steadily. I was wrong about so many things, but I have to try and make this right. "Don't be a fool, Katniss." I'm leaning forward, my gaze drilling into the lens, searching for hers. "Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity." The buzz begins in my blood, I can feel my restraint slipping, but I fight for it. "If you've got any real influence use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on?" The water is closing over my head, but I struggle against it. "And if you don't…find out." The buzz becomes a siren wail and I leap from the chair, kicking it over and screaming against the vision of the girl on fire, her flames licking up my flesh and roaring over my head. I'm a flare, an inferno. She has ignited me and I blaze in agony while she looks on.