XXVII
…
It is cold and dark and wet and cold.
After I jumped, I don't remember what happened. It's just one big blank. I think I hit something, like a wall, but I don't know. That doesn't make sense, hitting a wall. How would I hit a wall? There was no wall to hit. All there was was the nicely cleaned and polished Capitol concrete pavement thirteen floors bellows. That was the only thing for me to hit. There was nothing else. Nothing. And, if there was something it had to be invisible because I didn't see anything below when I gazed down at the city moments before I decided to make a jump for it.
It is cold and dark and wet and cold.
I woke up here, after the jump. This, in the holding cell where I now am, is where my memory picks up again. I was lying on the cold and wet concrete floor of this dark and eerie holding cell. I was still clothed in the soft, now damp, pants that clutch my legs and my undersized, as well as now damp, sweater. My body hurt, like I had hit a wall… or maybe even worse. I was on the floor and behind me against the wall was a bench with a blanket. A toilet was to my right alongside a sink and… that was it. There was not much space, maybe the cell was five feet by five feet.
It is cold and dark and wet and cold.
Now, lying in the dark still wet and cold along my back across the bench in the holding cell, reflecting on the last – twenty-four hours? forty-eight hours? some time longer than that maybe? or possible even so some time shorter than that? – I have been taken… hostage I suppose you might say, I hear footsteps. Their loud and numbered and angry.
The first thing that comes to mind is Snow, Snow is coming for me. It's the only logical thought I have. Snow.
They're not far away, the footsteps, I can tell by the way the echo through the concrete chamber along with I figure I'm located. When they do finally reach me, not seconds later, four Peacekeepers come into focus even through the darkness. They're all dressed in their nice, shiny, white pristine Peacekeeper uniforms with their hands not wavering far from where this guns rest on their belts.
None of them say a word yet they do move and their actions do speak just as loud.
The one standing closest opens my cell. The two Peacekeepers behind him hurry in, grabbing me by the arms and lifting me to my feet. I can't even process what is occurring before they have my cuffed and are hauling me out of the cell. The Peacekeeper whom had opened the cell leads us down the dark hall, the two whom have cuffed me flank me on each side, and the other whom has yet to do anything follows behind us.
I'm in trouble and I'm going to die. It's the only logical thought I have as they push me down the dark concrete hall. Snow is mad and I am going to die, probably publically executed.
We walk for a while. We make our way down the dark hallway for minutes before finally a small light bulb glows, brightening the end of the hall where a staircase stands. They, the Peacekeepers, lead me up the staircase, two flights before we break into a more decorated hall, not like the concrete one where my holding cell is, but one with wooden floors and elegant designed wallpaper which mirrors and portraits and paintings hang from.
We're in - I am in the mansion, the President's Mansion. I can tell by the floors. I remember Effie raving about them at the party, they were… mahogany?
The Peacekeepers continue to push me down the hall. we make turns here and there, left and right and I know I should be remember theses turns and decorations hanging from the walls, so I can escape, but I don't. I don't know why, but I don't. I had jumped and now Snow has come for me and there was no escape. There was no doubt Peacekeepers were lining the mansion, inside and out to be sure I could not get out nor could anyone else get in.
At some point we stop.
The two Peacekeepers who flank me grab me by the arms as they had did in the holding cell and the Peacekeeper whom stands in front of us, like in the cell, opens the door in which we stopped in front of. Then, all of a sudden, the two Peacekeepers whom hold me push me through the door. Unable to balance myself I stumble through the door, fall so hard against the wooden floors that black dots fill my vision. And, before the black dots can engulf me, the fourth Peacekeeper who trailed behind us shuts the door with a smile.
…
When I come to, a nicely, black polished shoe is nudging me in the stomach. My body aches, everywhere. My head pounds as if it is being pelted with rocks. And, my stomach, is twisted and knotted in so much pain without doing a thing it hurts.
When I look up I knew who I would see before my eyes laid on him. I could smell him, the smell or roses, the scent of blood filled the room, anyone could tell. Therefore, when I look I come to see the devilish face of none other than the President of Panem himself, Cornelius Snow.
"Ms. Everdeen," he smiles.
I let a soft muted groan as I try to lift my head off the ground only to feel my stomach convulse and throat burn as I purge, the little contents of my stomach spewing onto the floor inches from Snow's nicely, black polished shoes.
"Comfortable?" He asks.
I force myself to smile, no doubt instead portraying a pained expression.
"Don't worry," he tells me, "You'll adapt to the drugs."
"Dr- rug- gs," I stutter.
He nods. "Tracker jacker venom."
I look around the room to see if it is anywhere in sight. Yet, I only come to see nothing more than white barren walls, a barred window as if I was being imprisoned, and two wooden chairs seated in front an old brick fireplace that was filled with ash. It was dull and solitary and silent. It was the same room I had been imprisoned in after being retrieved from District 12 weeks ago.
"Those issues we had talked about weeks ago, Ms. Everdeen, those that you have and still are the main source of have worsened."
I try to open my mouth, but a pain shoots through my head causing me to let out another soft, muted groan.
"Yes, you'll adapt soon enough to the venom," he tells me before quickly switching topics. "But, yes, these problems I have are a result of you, Ms. Everdeen, and I know you are not sorry for your actions or else I wouldn't have such problems so please, don't try to inform me otherwise."
I nod my head. I'm not sorry. I think. And, I never will be.
"You've caused me some problems, many problems that have kept me up nights as well as my council member and other consultants. You have additionally kept my council member and other consultants away from their families and friends as well as me away from my granddaughter as I have explained before."
He pauses, looking to the window where it is dark outside.
"A punishment has been given. Yes. I have had your beloved sister whipped to death for fictional crimes and your estranged mother shot and quietly disposed of without word resulting in yourself believing she has yet abandoned you again. However, for your most recent actions, igniting uprisings in the districts and most recently attempting to kill yourself by jumping off the top of the Tribute Building, another punishment or punishments are lined up to occur."
"The," I breathe, "auc- uction."
"Good, you've been paying attention," he nods. "The auction is only half of your punishment, Ms. Everdeen. You will be sold, your body along with other victors, package deals of sorts to the highest bidders, men or women. This will exempt you from some of your actions, being in more money, pleasing more Capitola citizens, and additionally drawing attention away from the uprising occurring with the districts."
"The other half," I force myself to speak in an even tone.
"Of the punishment?" He asks, turning away from the window and back to my figure on the floor.
I nod, clutching my stomach as it twist.
"You will be injected with tracker jacker venom on a daily bases. Five, eight, eleven, twenty times a day, maybe in even."
"Why," I breathe.
"Because, Ms. Everdeen, you don't behave as you should. You are not… compliant. And, I can't have you worsening situation even more so. I need you to behave, act better than the best. I need you to fill the role I have set for you to a key, to my liking."
He pauses, stepping so he may lean against the fireplace.
"The tracker jacker venom will help you- help me be positive that you won't act out. It'll be assurance that you will put an end to all the problems you have caused. The uprising will stop, the people of Panem will stop believing there is a chance that they can achieve freedom and the nation will return to how it once was. The district will obey and people will work, children will be reaped and the Hunger Games will go on, and hope will be a small flickering light that drive the people yet does not allow them anything more."
I let my head fall back down against the wooden floors.
"You have brought this upon yourself, Ms. Everdeen. As I have said before, you're not like other like your fellow victors and so people don't look at you like they have the rest of your fellow victors. You did not come out of the Arena in a body bag or turn out to be the vicious and brilliant Career I had hoped you'd be, even with your mentor's efforts you failed to achieve… which is not a surprise. You came out of the Arena innocent and turned into a cause for them."
He shakes his head.
"Everything you once had or had the chance of having is gone. You became a cause for the people to regain their freedom. You mirrored the perfect model of themselves, powerless and restricted and hopeless. You made them reflect and realize. They realized as they did over seventy-four years ago that they wanted to change, that they wanted the ability to choose, that they wanted freedom and rights and say. You have been the turned into a cause for the districts of Panem to break loose of the confined state in which they have been living for so long. You have become a martyr."
"So you believe," I force myself to ask, "that by inje- jecting me with this tracker jacker venom you will make me like them, like the pe- people use to be, enslaved, and this uprising, rebellion wi- ill stop."
"That is the plan, Ms. Everdeen."
I smile to myself. "You are a fool."
Quickly, he strides across the room to me, pressing – no, digging the heel of his nicely, black polished shoe into my shoulder causing me to grind my feet in pain.
"I am no fool, Ms. Everdeen. I have stopped uprisings before, I will stop this one."
"This one," I breathe through my teeth, "has go- gone to the point of no re- turn."
"We'll see about that."
I laugh. "If you're so sure abo- out that, why don't yo- ou kill me?"
"Why did you jump?" He retorts.
"Because if I died, the dis- trict would have burn you and your Capitol down in mo- ments of the news breaking."
"There's your answer, Ms. Everdeen."
"How are you sure I won't star- start another rebellion?"
"Because," he tells me as the door of the room is opened and men in white coats proceed in along with a cart on which a vile and surgeon lay on top of, "you will behave."