CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO:

Bess Tyler

I couldn't sit still. The room wasn't big but it was bigger than our hut in the Compound. Mayor Steward had been nice, but I didn't trust him. I asked him many times to let Striker and Lenox stay in the room with me. His response had been simple: Put this dress on and shut up. So I did as he told and hadn't spoken to him since then, and that was three days ago. I've done long periods of not talking to certain people before, but talking to no one because the one person I'm refusing to talk to is the only person I've seen in 72 hours, that's an excruciating task. The room has a balcony: its window is boarded up. My room has a wash basin and a mirror sitting on a wooden vanity stand precariously. I walk over to it now to look at myself – a luxury not readily affordable to us in the Compound. Here's what I see: a girl on the edge of teenage years, dirty tanned skin, hungry bluish eyes, straw-colored hair in a ridiculously frilly bonnet (pink) and a matching old-timey dress (pink and striped vertically in brown). The frills curve in a V-shape down from my neck, revealing skin: it makes me feel uncomfortable, like this is a secret I'm not in on. I slap the mirror off the vanity and it collapses on the ground with the sort of clatter that is satisfying to a disturbed soul. I go back to the bed and sit on it. I've refused to make it (Dad wouldn't be pleased, nor Moxie neither). I'm stoking the fire within me, a fire lit by defiance, by recounting the stupidity of the last week since we were rounded up from the Compound and brought to the Town Hall.

I hope he's still out there – Deane.

I hope he's still out there, running.

I hope Moxie is out there running with him.

I hope no one catches them.

I've thought a lot about freedom in the last three days. Mayor Steward has yet to tell me why he's come to see me, and why he's being civil with me. I can't guess because I've just lived on the assumption that he, like all the other Townies and Peacekeepers in this terrible District, that he hates us. I don't think there is any other explanation.

And then, he opens the door while I'm pacing about in this stupid dress that is, by the way, too big for me. I expect he's come to give me more food, but when I turn around I see that he doesn't have the prerequisite tray in his hands, so I frown.

What does he want?

He sighs, closes the door behind him and then sits on the bed. It groans under his weight, but only because he's bigger than I am. He's losing his hair even though he isn't old enough to be losing it, and he looks tired. I don't know why I make all these observations about him upon his arrival; I think it's because I've been interrupted by him in the midst of a personal moment and the only thing I can do is reflect – which is a sister to observation. I think he's not an evil man, not like Coriolanus Snow, our "beloved" president, but I do think that what he's ordered the Peacekeepers to do is evil.

Do people actually come back from being evil like that?

Is it possible?

It never truly occurred to me that the Hunger Games victors might not actually win, except for the rare occasion when Miss Menzies would cross paths with us in Town. On those very rare occasions, she always had a crease between her eyebrows, the sort of crease that tells the world you've been frowning or crying a lot. Dad had that crease too, but I never saw him cry except for the night Momma died. Anyway, I suppose that means Miss Menzies has been frowning over something. I remember a time when I fell off the climbing bars at the school in Town, and the ground was so hard and unforgiving when I hit it that it hurt a lot. I didn't want to cry, so I bit my lip and frowned really hard, and I pretended I was tough. Tough like Moxie, who never cries. Miss Menzies was doing the same thing I bet. And so is Mayor Steward, I bet. And if I could get under his skin and find out why he's pretending to be tough, maybe I can see a human side to him. Or maybe there's nothing human left. He pats the spot next to him on the bed, but I don't move. He sighs.

"Fine," he says.

"Fine!" I say back.

"What –," he begins and stops, faltering. "Why are you –," he tries again but can't continue. "How are you doing?" I stare at him. "No, I mean, are you feeling alright?" I continue to stare at him. "Will you answer me?"

No. You told me to shut up and wear this stupid dress.

"Defiant, I should have guessed." He sighs and rubs his forehead. "Alright then." He gets up and opens the door. "Food is coming. Don't eat it all at once." And then he leaves, pulling the door closed behind him. I assume my guards are put back into place as I listen to his footsteps getting dimmer on the creaky floorboards in the hallway.

When the food does arrive, I eat the bread but leave the rest. I am defiant, but I just wish I knew why. As the sun goes down on another pointless day in captivity, I ponder what my reasons might be for being defiant. There are the obvious choices: I just saw my people killed en masse and I have no reason to waste away here under the illusion that I'll be spared. That's number one. Number two is that I'm in captivity and no one I've ever read about in captivity remains docile while captive. Number three is that he expects me to be defiant and so I am. Number three catches me by surprise though.

Haven't I spent a lifetime doing what other people want me to do and being what other people want for me to be?

Haven't I kept a special unique part of myself hidden away because it would disappoint others to bring it out?

Haven't I aimed to please rather than to be myself?

Am I defiant because Mayor Steward says I am?

Am I defiant because I'm finished with being complacent?

Moxie would know the answer. She always had the answer to why I was acting the way I did, and I always trusted that she would know how to handle me. But I think something serious changed when we first encountered Deane and Thatcher Scythe on the Gaming Reserve so long ago. I think something serious changed when we encountered Deane again not too long ago. I think that the parting ways we took changed our relationship. As the shadows grow longer, I discover that I am mourning the sister I told to leave. Eventually, I fall asleep and dream of Moxie, and mourn.

When morning comes, I am stiff because I decided to sleep on the floor. I'm dusty and my hair feels ruffled. I don't really care. The mirror is still on the floor where I slapped it off the vanity yesterday. I pick it up stiffly and replace it on the vanity, opening its panels to reveal myself reflecting back at me. I think I've lost weight. The rats have eaten the food I discarded; I notice this when I look for the plate somewhat longingly. It's empty, thus I surmise the rats have eaten the leftovers. I should be glad they didn't decide to eat me too. And then, he returns. Mayor Steward sits on the bed in the same spot he sat yesterday, and he rubs his forehead like he did yesterday. And he looks at me the same way he did yesterday.

"You will break fast with me in the Dining Room. Striker and Lenox will be there as well. Perhaps they will get you to talk." He doesn't say anything more, but he gets up and leaves. My guards are slow to collect me, but they do collect me eventually, and I have to go with them.

The Dining Room is actually nice. The long wooden table looks like it can accommodate a very large party with lots of seats and space, and when I walk into the room, two of those spaces are occupied by my brothers. I frown as I am moved to cry, but instead I choose to be tough like Moxie. I hold out my arms to them when I see them, and they slip off their chairs and walk to me as if there is someone containing them on an invisible leash. Lenox hugs me first; Striker holds back.

"You smell, Bessy," Lenox says, touching my dirty face. I pantomime smelling him and wrinkle my nose with a smile playing at my mouth. He doesn't know if he should laugh until I touch noses with him and give him reason to giggle. I want to cry again as I see his face break into a smile, and as I hear the rumbling of a giggle in his tummy. "Mr. Mayor let us play yesterday. We have all sorts of toys in our room. He comes and visits us a lot. More than Daddy. But he says you're sad and won't say anything to him. But you will talk to us, right Bessy?" How can I keep from crying? I hug Lenox tight and squeeze my eyes tighter to keep the tears in. Striker joins us, his little arms trying to reach around our embrace. I try to move my arm to pull him in, but with a surprising force, he pinions my arm in place with his hollow belly. I can feel the bones of his ribcage tight against my arm. His mouth collides with my ear and I hear him whisper, "I hate you, Bessy."

I think my heart stops.

I fall over.

Arms pull me to my feet: Mayor Steward's arms. Striker and Lenox are back at their places at the table. Mayor Steward helps me to a spot set for me, and when I am seated, he takes his own seat. Food is brought in and put on our plates, and then the server returns to wherever he came from to leave us in peace. It's an unsettled peace we are in as we eat in silence. Mayor Steward looks at all of us in turn but he doesn't interrupt the silence until the meal is finished. I eat but I'm unsteady. Striker's words hurt, and I'm starting to feel the pain wholesale. I can't imagine what brought him to say that. When the meal ends, Mayor Steward breaks the silence.

"Thank you for joining me, Lenox and Striker and Bess. I really enjoy spending time with you all, and I would like to spend more time with you together. Would you like that too?"

"I like spending time with you Mr. Mayor!" Lenox says.

"I don't want to spend time with Bessy," Striker says, wounding me once more.

"Why not, Striker?" Mayor Steward asks.

"I just don't." Striker replies, and I can see he really means it. Part of me really hoped he was just disappointed about something and he felt like I should be the one to blame for it, but as I look at him now, I can see that he's quite certain of how he feels toward me. I frown deeper and simply let him take his shots at me, especially because he's looking directly at me too.

"That's a shame, Striker," Mayor Steward replies in a saddened tone. "She's your sister." Striker glares at me unrepentant. "And as it turns out," Mayor Steward continues. "You don't really have a choice. Unless Lenox doesn't want to see Bess either." Lenox gets emotional when Mayor Steward looks at him.

"I – I want to see her." I want to run to him and hold him tight because I see him beginning to cry. He's being strong and holding it back, but he's also just seven years old and hardly knows how to be brave except for when he's hungry.

"Striker, unless you can convince your brother to agree with you," Mayor Steward says patiently, "I'm afraid you will have to see your sister."

"No." Striker says coldly. "Lenox, you don't really want to see Bessy, do you?"

"Yes I do," Lenox sniffles, a wet tear beginning to escape from his eyes.

"No, I don't think you do, Lenox." Striker says.

"Yes I do, Striker." Lenox says back forcefully. I can see he's losing his control. Evidently, Mayor Steward can see it too. He holds up his hands for quiet.

"Calm down, Lenox, calm down. No need to be emotional here. We don't have to decide now. I do need to hear what Bess has to say," he says turning to me.

Asshole!

"And I will interpret silence as disagreement with Lenox, if you were wondering," Mayor Steward adds. My skin bristles with newfound loathing for him. He's beaten me at my own game. I clench my jaw and glare at him. He raises his eyebrows. I look across the table at Lenox who is now crying quietly, breaking my heart. And then I see the look of triumph on Striker's face, and my mind is made up.

"Have it your way, Mayor." I say. "But as long as Lenox wants to see me, I want to see him." Mayor Steward nods, showing no signs of happiness or disappointment. Striker, however, could not conceal his disgust even if he was under duress to do so. Likewise, Lenox quits crying quietly and lets out a sob.

"Lunch then," Mayor Steward says, evenly. "We will meet again for lunch." He stands, scraping his chair across the floor. Striker jumps down from his chair and takes Mayor Steward's outstretched hand. Lenox slides off his chair, his face streaked wet with tears and snot, and joins Mayor Steward on the other side. I see Striker slide a foot out to try and trip Lenox, but by shear dumb luck, Lenox steps around Striker and foils his plan. Mayor Steward takes them out first, and soon after my "escort" comes and brings me upstairs again.

Once the door is closed, I crumble, shaking.

Is it rage?

Is it fear?

I have no idea why Striker has turned against me so viciously, but it is tearing me apart. Did Mayor Steward put him up to it?

Is Mayor Steward doing something to Striker to alter him?

I have no answers, and I continue to shake until Mayor Steward returns to my room. I fantasize flying at him and tearing his face to shreds when he steps into the room and takes his place on the bed. I don't do it, and inside I burn.

"I am sorry you had to see Striker like that," Mayor Steward says. "In truth, I was worried he might receive you poorly after our meeting this morning. He," he pauses in search of the right word. "He was reluctant to see you when I told him that he was going to break fast with you. Lenox, however, made him come, and in fact it was Lenox's idea to make sure you all were together. I merely engineered a way so that it was a choice of all or nothing between your brothers."

I say nothing.

"Aside from your reticence, Miss Tyler, I have another problem that I sincerely hoped you could help me with. I seem to be missing sisters of yours. I've heard nothing of the whereabouts of Moxie, Arvensis or Elka Tyler. I've been to your home in the prairie and I have found no trace of them among the slain."

All I do is listen.

I will give him nothing.

"I sincerely hope you do not know where they are as well. It could be quite a bad time for you if you did, and all I have wanted is to protect you and your family." I think he's going to say more, but that thought hangs in the air between us, growing hotter and more intense with the silence. Finally he gets up and goes out the door, his footsteps fading down the hallway. I don't believe his lies: he's not protecting us at all. He's tearing us apart and enjoying every minute of it.

The truth is, I have no idea where my sisters are: Moxie must be out in the Wilds by now, but Sissy and Elka…. I have reason to believe Elka is somewhere in Town, maybe at Miss Vetta's, or maybe she's dead. Sissy might be dead too. I think Mayor Steward would have told me they were dead if he knew it. A man as vile as him wouldn't shy away from a revelation like that.