CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:

Atoka Menzies

"Come in, Miss Menzies," President Snow said with the touch of a smile. Up close, Coriolanus Snow looked nothing like the imposing figure from television broadcasts of important announcements for the nation, or the few cameo appearances he made with regard to the Hunger Games. Up close, he looked like an ambitious young adult with a proclivity for wearing bleach-white suits and slicking his hair back. His voice wasn't even that imposing; rather, it had gentleness to it, a lulling quality. Even though it was half his mouth turned aslant, his smile set Atoka both at ease and uneasy. "Please, sit," he offered her the lounging chair – little more than an old Imperial British sitting room seat with no arms or back – and he traced his thin lips with his index finger as he watched her follow his orders. For her part, Atoka didn't rush to sit but made a point of working her way there slowly, waiting for him to pounce on her like the viper she thought him to be, but also watching his every move as an animal of prey is like to do in the presence of a predator. He chuckled as she made the most of sitting down, touching her belly for effect. "Ah, your delicate condition," he nodded, dropping his hand into his lap. "How could I forget?"

"Pardon me, Mr. President," Atoka began, shoving aside her resentful tone to wear a more gracious air about her. "I'm still not used to carrying around a little one. I used to be able to do more."

"Yes, we all know," replied President Snow, softly. Atoka felt her skin crawl as she caught him looking at her in a way that a predator looks at his prey. "Should I order you something to drink? A bite to eat? Whatever you wish, Miss Menzies, simply ask and it shall be given." He spread out his hands in a gesture of offering. Atoka failed to hold back her scowl.

"Thank you, Mr. President."

He studied her for a time that stretched beyond her desire and comfort, and then he said very suddenly, as one who has broken from a trance, "So, shall we talk then?"

"Yes, Mr. President," Atoka replied, smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt. "I suppose you want to know who's the father?"

"Not really, no," the President replied. "Such mundane things don't interest me as much as, perhaps, knowing the mother." His inflection on "mother" sent a shiver up and down Atoka's spine.

"There's not much to know, Mr. President. I'm the Victor of the Seventh Annual Hunger Games. I've recently unsuccessfully mentored two Tributes from District 10 in the Nineteenth Annual Hunger Games. I'm pregnant, and it happened around the end of the Hunger Games." She forced herself to look at President Snow and squinted when he seemed to be studying her again.

"You had a brother in the Hunger Games, didn't you, Miss Menzies?" He asked in a far off sort of voice.

"Duncan. Yeah. He was pulled in the year before me."

"And a sister too. Gladys?"

"Yes. Two years after me." Atoka looked away. She had forgotten about Gladys, even though she'd mentored her. Now, as the conversation brought her little sister back to life, Atoka couldn't bare it. She felt sick and jumped up suddenly, her hand to her stomach. "Washroom?" she asked with urgency. President Snow rose swiftly and gracefully, striding to her side and ushering her to a nearly invisible side door at the entrance to the room. He opened it and gestured inside. Atoka rushed to the toilet, threw the lid up and had just leaned over the basin when the bile rushed up and out of her. She sat down on the floor beside the toilet and wrapped her arms around herself, a trait she remembered from childhood. President Snow – to his credit in her mind – did not follow her into the washroom but stood outside it, leaning against the wall. When the threat of more sickness had passed, Atoka flushed the toilet and got to her feet, staggering a little, crossed to the washing basin and faucet, and washed her face and hands, swirling some water in her mouth to clear the taste. As she made her way out of the washroom, there was a knock on the door which President Snow answered, blocking the visitor from view. Atoka made her way back to her seat and was smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt again when President Snow brought a card table and a small platter of breakfast foods to her. There was toasted muffins with apple butter smeared across them and sinking into their crannies, slices of toasted white and wheat breads smeared with blackberry jam and orange marmalade, a saucer of milk and a cup of tea, and several slices of citrus fruit. Atoka could smell each piece of the ensemble distinctly.

"Eat," he said, and then he took his seat and waited. It took a few minutes before Atoka gave in to temptation and took a bite from the citrus fruit slices. "I want to talk about what happened at your Homecoming Feast at Mr. G. W. Burliss's ranch," he said when she'd finished her slice. "I've had a few reports from other sources that appear to contradict each other in the facts of events that happened. What do you say happened, Miss Menzies?"

With some effort, Atoka took herself back to that evening.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jesse boy. I'd be lucky to have a sweetheart like you. But my life is complex right now, so if you're still interested, ask me again next year." The cowboy nodded and the conversation ended. Five minutes later, Atoka took Jesse's hand and walked with him to the door. She was dressed in a light green evening dress, cut two inches below her knees, and she wore thonged sandals of the sort sported by the ladies in the frescoes that she'd seen once while in the Capitol. The shoulders of her dress were thin but extra fabric fell from them to cover her upper arms. Her outfit complimented the minor colors in Jesse's plaid shirt – a detail he had picked up with a quickening heart, but a detail he'd kept quiet – and when they met the usual cowboys on the short walk to Mr. Gordon Walkerson Burliss's ranch, the enthusiasm for courting her had waned. Jesse thought it might have to do with the subtle way they complemented each other, but in the back of his mind, he wondered if it wasn't something else too. A noticeable number of cowboys had been missing here and there since the ranch hand had escaped, and the presence of Peacekeepers in the Ranches (and on the road between the Compound and the Town… called Mills, for no comprehensible reason) had increased in relation to the number of cowboys who went missing. If anyone knew what was going on, truthfully, it wasn't Jesse or his fellow cowboys. Yet, as he looked around this gangly crew of cowboys – many of whom were Mr. Burliss's – he had a sneaking suspicion that one among them (maybe two) had answers.

For her part, Atoka had played hard-to-get well, and her grace as a Victor was well known both in the Town (without a name, to her knowledge) and in the Ranches. She knew her reputation at home; abroad, however, she had been relatively surprised that anyone in the Capitol had taken her into their hearts, and yet two men had done so: one of them had taken her a little further. Actually, both had, but in different ways. She had prepared for the usual banter, showing off and cat-calling from the cowboys on the way to the feast, and though some of that did happen, most of it didn't. The cowboys, also fewer in number, were more reticent than usual. Randy, one of Mr. Burliss's cowboys, wasn't usually this quiet: he'd often tried to pick fights with Jesse to impress Atoka, and his recent stunts had been much riskier than Atoka cared for when it came to entertain her before the rest of the cowboys.

"Randy," she called out. "Cat got your tongue? I've never seen you so quiet and peaceful. Are you getting soft on me?" Well, he didn't like that, based on his scowl in response to her, and the other cowboys – devoid of something else to do – laughed at him.

"I've always been soft for you," Randy shot back. "You've just been hard on me, twisting my breaking heart around by going along with that Jesse kid there." There was more laughter in response, and Jesse hooked arms with her.

"I've been hard on you?" Atoka laughed. "Do you know how I got to be a Victor, Mr. Randy?" They were all listening to her. "I killed folks." Instead of laughter, there was a sudden silence, and Randy's expression changed. He looked a mix of angry and ashamed. At first Atoka thought he'd stumbled, but Jesse jerked her back as he pulled up right in front of her, his face dangerously close to hers.

"You know how I got to be a cowboy?" he hissed. Everyone who'd stopped heard him, but those few cowboys who'd continued walking didn't notice any change. To Atoka's added surprise, Jesse got between her and Randy, getting up in Randy's face.

"You got here like the rest of us… through the favor of Mr. Burliss… and don't you forget it." A few more cowboys slipped away as Jesse and Randy stared each other down.

"How could I forget the magnificence of my cow-man?" Randy spat back. Atoka watched them size each other up, their banter still reasonably in the realm of sarcasm, though dangerously close to actual fighting. She looked to the holster partially concealed at Jesse's hip, knowing that cowboys were permitted to carry a firearm. The danger of the situation was familiar to her, but she'd never been on the outside of it. Now that she was, she didn't like it. She tugged on Jesse's hand and broke the moment.

"Come on, boys," she forced a laugh. "Everyone knows I'm a killer." Jesse let her pull him away from Randy and toward Mr. G. W. Burliss's ranch a few paces away. The tension between those two, though, did not let up throughout the night.

During the bull-riding, Mrs. Cheneye Dickson sat down beside Jesse. They were not far from Atoka, but she couldn't hear much of their conversation. What she did catch was cryptic at best. He spoke first.

"Randy." Mrs. Dickson nodded.

"I thought he might be one." They sat watching the cowboys try to ride their bulls. "Is he in the lists?"

"No." Jesse said. "Who's the new ranch hand?" Jesse pointed out a skinny, dark-haired boy on the side of the room, biting his fingernails and watching raptly.

"Walkerson calls him Biter." They smirked. "I wonder why."

And then, the rider was thrown from his bull, and Biter leapt into action, warding off the bull with some sort of magic ill-possessed by the other ranch hands present. When he turned in profile to the audience, Atoka noticed some bruising on his wrists. It was a detail only a hunter could pick out because he was moving quickly and had only exposed his wrists in that moment, brief as it was; and when she turned her attention back to Mrs. Dickson and Jesse, their conversation had ended. Mrs. Dickson was making her way up to Atoka as the cowboy and Biter were rushing out of the ring. Atoka caught Mr. Burliss watching them like a hawk, and immediately she wondered what was happening beyond her vision.

President Snow traced his lips again as he listened to Atoka's recollection. "Did you not suspect anything between Mrs. Cheneye Dickson, your cowboy, Randy and Mr. Gordon Walkerson Burliss?" he asked when she had finished to that point.

"What was there to suspect?"

"Something subtle," he said curtly.

"I noticed odd details, Mr. President, but none of them seemed connected," Atoka replied, irritated at the interrogation. "I was brought here under the pretense that you wanted to speak about my pregnancy and you wanted to know who the father is."

"Yes, and I do. I know you had a relationship with Mr. Cor Lee." He shrugged, throwing up his hands. "What can we do. The heart wants what the heart wants. It's a pity he's engaged to marry a Gamesmaker, though. I hope you weren't thinking you could come back here and take him for a husband." President Snow watched Atoka as she suppressed her reaction to this melodramatic news: of course Cor would be engaged to someone more significant than her! She decided she'd rather not play into President Snow's game, though, since she was certain he was trying to shock her.

"I didn't know you were so close with Cor," she smiled coquettishly. President Snow grinned back at her, showing a line of perfectly white teeth.

"Do you know what I like most about you, Miss Menzies?" he asked.

"I didn't think you liked me at all, Mr. President," Atoka returned with a backhand challenge.

"Quite the contrary, Miss Menzies," the President said, raising his inflection. "You are one of my most likable Victors. The thing I like most about you is that you think and act as though all of this is a game." Atoka felt like lashing out at him. She restrained herself and President Snow was aware. "Perhaps even the Game. You have this way of hiding your true self from everyone you meet," he studied her again with those piercing eyes that set her on edge. "This way of putting on a character that is everything you are not."

"I learn from the greatest character actor in the nation," Atoka challenged, mirroring his slant smile.

"Oh Miss Menzies, I think you're losing your touch. See, I've never lied to anyone about who I am. And yet," he furrowed his brows dramatically. "You never tell anyone the truth of who you are. I find that fascinating, but I think it is nothing like me." For the first time since sitting down, Atoka felt the cheeriness of the smile she put on.

"Oh Mr. President, I think you're losing your touch." Coriolanus Snow raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling. "See, I wasn't referring to you, Mr. President." Atoka was certain President Snow's eyebrows couldn't go much higher.

"No?" he asked. "Then who?"

"Who else?" Atoka said, going for the landing. "Mr. Gordon Walkerson Burliss." President Snow's face drooped: his mouth turned down in a straight line, his eyebrows fell and the twinkle in his eyes vanished.

"Walkerson," he repeated.

"The very man." Atoka responded.

"That's interesting." President Snow sat back in his chair and began stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Why do you think he's playing a role?"

"I think they all are, but he's the best at it." Atoka replied.

"And what is he lying about?"

"I don't know," Atoka said. "Whatever it is, it is big. I wouldn't be surprised if we started losing cow-men mysteriously." President Snow's faced emptied of its color.

"What do you want, Miss Menzies?"

"Cor Lee," she said, adamantly. "I don't care how, I do care when. When I return to District 10, he's a free man." The president studied her for a long time. Atoka had no real expectations that her request would be granted. She marveled at President Snow's ability to hold suspense and tension without saying a word, and in that void of words, she began to study him. He was a young man, but he had an old man's eyes. He was slow to respond emotionally and yet very skillfully quick with his wit. He understood far more than he revealed, and she could tell that he revealed less than 1% of what he understood. She also decided that he had played a significant role in this year's Hunger Games, one way or another, and that his signature was on each of the twenty-three death warrants carried out in high fashion throughout the Games; perhaps he'd personally decide how the District 10 Tributes died from this point onward, now that she was challenging him to concede something.

"Deal," he said suddenly. "In exchange for you doing a small task for me," he continued. The moment of stunned joy that had washed over Atoka quickly dried out as she comprehended his quid pro quo objective.

"Yes, Mr. President. What would you have me do?"

"You told the cowboys you became a Victor by killing. I can see that you are still playing the Hunger Games, and as well as offering to you a husband and a family life, I want to offer you a chance to truly win the Games." The meaning behind his words sank in all at once.

"Who must I kill," Atoka asked, setting her jaw. President Snow grinned.

The train took Jesse and Atoka back to District 10 the following morning. Their evening had been spent quietly, given free range of the mansion (except the executive, legislative and judicial wings) Atoka and Jesse explored. It was a building with many open and airy rooms. Atoka found one in which the frescoes she had seen once long ago were being housed and she was enthusiastic in her showing them to Jesse. He had some questions of her initially, most concerning her meeting with President Snow, and she responded to each exactly as Snow had rehearsed with her to do. But in the evening, after a delicious dinner with some choice members of the public including Mr. Phinehas Gideon, Mr. Romulus Cane, a wolfish looking woman called Tamora, the women who had sponsored Panem's nineteenth Victor and the president, Atoka had put a wedge between herself and Jesse. In her room, she went through all that had happened in her meeting with Snow, what she was set to gain and what District 10 was set to lose. Her assignment was clear but complicated. She had developed a personal relationship with her victim in a way that made this job a tough one. Of course, they only saw each other once a year on purpose, but each meeting drew her closer to her victim, and even now she felt certain that this would be the most atrocious kill of all. Of course, it also meant that she would be invited to the Capitol again, once proof of death was received, and there she'd be treated to a mental rehabilitation process that would officially re-write her experience of the world, reverting back to the days before she went into the arena, the days when she could live without knowing what it felt like to destroy the lives of innocent children. That gain, along with Cor and their child, was very nearly worth the cost. Jesse made a few vain attempts to see her, but each time she kept quiet and waited for him to leave. After the third attempt, he made no more and Atoka was left with a sinking heart. She had until the Victory Tour to plot out the murder. If it was successful, the train returning to District 3 would make a pit stop inside of District 10, and Cor would be escorted to her.

All she had to do was murder Mrs. Dickson.