Chapter 2
I sit hogtied in a cluttered, forgotten room in the Justice Building. A single naked light hangs down, casting half the room in long shadows. I rock against my restraints, doing my best to hang on to the last of my sanity. This isn't happening. It's not happening. It can't be happening. I have a plane to catch today. I have to meet my brother Conner at his school. We're going skiing.
I stop rocking.
Or maybe, we've already gone skiing and I crashed into a tree. Maybe this is a hallucination and I'm in a coma somewhere. But aren't comas supposed to be like dreams? You aren't supposed to feel anything in a dream and I'm absolutely feeling something right now.
The rest of the reaping hadn't gone like in the book. Dream, coma, whatever this is—I am not Peeta Mellark and I was not going to just calmingly walk up to the stage. I'd tried to tell them I wasn't Peeta Mellark. I even told them that I'm 22 and therefore ineligible for the reaping, but they didn't listen.
There'd been some yelling and a little running, a few punches thrown at those white clad peacekeepers, but in the end there were more of them than me and they'd dumped me here.
The door to the room slams open and Book!Mother storms into the room ahead of the guards. She reaches out a hand, slapping me hard across the face.
"What did you think you were doing out there?" she hisses, her breath smelling of strong alcohol. The woman is truly scary with her cold blue eyes, sparse grey and blonde hair. With a mother like this, it's a wonder Peeta Mellark wasn't more traumatized.
"You put all of us in danger. The whole district. They could kill us for a stunt like that," she continues. "They could kill the whole family. Me. Your father. Your brothers. Is that what you want, you selfish pig? Us to go down with you?"
She's more worried about herself than anyone else. Perhaps she should be. In a way, what she said is what happens in the books. Peeta sides with Katniss and his whole family ends up dead, along with most of the district.
I almost tell her she's dead anyway, that is, if you could call a fictitious character alive in the first place. But I don't say it. It's difficult to debate philosophy when that fictitious character is standing right in front of you. Instead I say, "What did Peeta ever do to make you so vicious? The kid's nearly a saint."
She stops short and squints at me. "You've really gone insane," she whispers. She begins to back out of the room, shaking her head slightly. "Maybe it's for the best. If you're crazy, maybe you won't realize what's happening in the Games. Maybe you'll be the first to die."
Book!Mother bangs on the door to be let out and disappears into the darkened hallway. No one else comes to see me. I don't know if it's because Book!Father and brothers refused to come or if the guards thought better of letting them in.
The silence drags on for ages before the door is opened and the peacekeepers untie my feet, but not my hands. They lead me to a battered minivan with tinted windows. The scarred badge on the back door reads Dodge. I can barely make out the worn ram logo. Good to know American cars lasted long enough to make it into the dystopia.
I slide in next to Book!Katniss. She looks numb, staring out of the window, her face expressionless. Effie and Haymitch occupy the seats in front of us.
The ride is quick and we get to the train station in minutes. The place is crawling with paparazzi—or rather what pass for paparazzi in dreamland. I assume the position—head slightly bent to avoid the flashing, but turned just enough so that they still get a good picture and don't start heckling you. It's the worst kind of symbiotic relationship. They need you and you need them but that doesn't stop either side from hating the other. I've had years to perfect my strategy.
Katniss freezes in the spotlight and I find myself herding her towards the platform just like I would do if any of my normal friends get caught up in the frenzy of a pap walk. I give her hand a gentle squeeze as I help her onto the platform. Haymitch and Effie bring up the rear. Haymitch disappears down the corridor, murmuring something about taking a nap while Effie turns to us.
"Now, we won't have any more trouble from you, Mr. Mellark, will we, hmmm?" she says in her Capitol accent.
I don't say anything, but she sighs and nods to one of the servants on the train who produces a thin blade from somewhere. The man deftly cuts the ropes from my hand. The ropes have left sore spots on my wrist. I stare at the redden flesh and the hope that this is a dream gets less and less likely.
I'm being carted off to the friggin Capitol.
Meanwhile…
They're discussing me like I'm not even in the room. The doctor, the blonde girl, and a middle aged man with graying hair are crowded in the corner of the room arguing frantically.
"Shouldn't we be calling his mother to fly down here? He'd want his mom here and his brother." the blonde says.
"That might distress him more," Dr. Mathers says. "Push him over the edge. And probably his mother, too. Not being recognized by her son would be agonizing."
The doctor flips through her notes again. "I have to say, this is a fascinating case. I've heard of instances of dissociative disorder where the patient's eye color changes to match an alternate personality, but I've never seen it. To be honest, I always thought the doctors who claimed it were hacks."
"I don't care how fascinating it is, Josh is my…my friend, one of my best friends and he needs help, now," the blonde says, her voice sounding teary.
"We're doing our best to help him," the doctor says, closing the patient file. "What's best for him now is to rest and slowly acclimate to a few familiar faces. We need to minimize stress and monitor his concussion. Too much physical or emotional stress combined with multiple concussions can lead to permanent effects if we are not careful."
"Will he be able to finish his role," the middle aged man says. "I mean, I don't want Josh to jeopardize his health, but is there a timetable on when he'll be able to get back to work? It's only this last scene."
The doctor pursed her lips and looked the older man up and down. "The boy doesn't know who he is right now. I don't think learning movie lines is something I can recommend."
"I know who I am," I say. The others turn around to look at me. "And I can hear you."
"Hey, how are you feeling?" the blonde says, coming over. She looking a little like she's about to pet a frightened rabbit. "We thought you were asleep."
I feel my lips curve. "It's pretty hard to sleep when everyone's yelling at the top of their lungs."
The girl smiles. "You almost sound like yourself."
"I am myself," I say. "But I'd like to know who all of you are and where I am."
"You're in a hospital in Atlanta," the girl said. "You have a concussion. There was a… little accident."
"With a horse," I say. I don't know where Atlanta is, but some districts are large enough to have more than one town and those towns sometimes have names. It might also be in the Capitol.
A hard ball of dread drops into my stomach because I know this being the Capitol is the most likely option. It is some experiment or trick from the Capitol, some way to punish me because of the Games.
"You remember," the girl asks, sounding both pleased and surprised.
"I remember you saying it earlier. Something about a horse kicking me," I say.
"I knew I shouldn't have let you ride a horse," the gray haired man mutters.
"It was an accident and nothing like that has ever happened to me before," the girl say, nearly screaming.
"You're yelling again," I say. I pinch the bridge of my nose to ease my pounding headache, but it doesn't help.
"Sorry," the girl says. "But that's why you think you're Peeta Mellark."
"I am Peeta Mellark," I say.
"Peeta Mellark is a fictional character," the doctor says soothingly. "You're an actor and you play Peeta Mellark in the movies."
"The movies are based on a series of popular books. Millions of people go to theaters to watch," the grey haired man says. "It's big entertainment."
"That doesn't make sense. No one would want to watch a movie about me," I say.
"Well, you're probably right. No one would sit through a movie just about you, I mean Peeta," the gray haired man says. "But it's not only about Peeta. It's about Katniss and Gale and all the other characters."
My eyes narrow when they mention Katniss and I can't believe I haven't thought about her.
"Where is Katniss?" I ask. "Is she here too? Do you have her here for your movie? I want to see her." I sit up too fast and a wave of dizziness almost takes me under.
The doctor gently forces me to lay back on the bed. "Don't make me have to restrain you," she warns.
"Where's Katniss," I say through gritted teeth.
"Ta-da," the blonde girl deadpans. "If you want Katniss, I'm the only one in the real world."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Jen plays Katniss in the movies," the gray haired man says.
I look over at the blond girl with her fair skin and bright blue eyes. "How can she play Katniss? She looks nothing like her."