Chapter 5

The folder feels thin and limp in my hands. Through the clear page protector I can see the only word typed on the first page: epilogue. In between these sheets is the epilogue of my life, a summary of everything that will happen to me in the next twenty years. And they want me to read it, act it out for some movie they're making about the Games that nearly killed me.

"Of course, under normal circumstances we would never ask anything like this while you recover," says the man in the gray suit.

"But, we're in a bit of a bind," the second man finishes.

He and his partner have brought the script to this out-of-the-way apartment, as the dark-haired woman who brought me here called it. These two men, the woman—no one really introduces themselves to me, they just assume that since Josh Hutcherson knew who they were, I would know as well.

"The studio is losing thousands every day we don't get the epilogue filmed. Francis, he says that you are a necessary part of the epilogue. We've asked, brainstormed ways to get around it, but he won't budge," the first man says, his face twisted in regret.

It's strange, the only real difference between the two men is the color of their suits, one wears gray while the other favors blue. They both have the same look of polite interest, though, like their personalities have been stripped and replaced with masks.

"Francis says the fans will revolt," the man in the blue suit adds.

"Yes, think of the fans," says the man in the gray suit, nodding solemnly to himself. "And this movie needs to gross at least half a billion dollars in ticket sales." He pauses. "Of course, we wouldn't want you to do anything to jeopardize your health."

"We plan to have a neurologist on set every moment you are there," the blue suit says. "One of the best in the country."

"And a psychologist… anything to make you feel safe," the gray suit says. "Your safety is our primary concern.

My body gives an involuntary shudder as these two continue to talk. They sound so much like the people in the Capitol, glib and smooth, mouthing words they don't believe just to get what they want.

But I know I'm not in the Capitol.

I've never taken a car ride like the one between here and the hospital. Of course, we didn't have time to sightsee in the Capitol before the Games, but I saw enough to know none of it looks like this city. There are none of the Capitol's candy-coated buildings here, just sleek, angular towers of gray steel.

There are districts that have tall buildings like this. I've seen them during televised broadcasts, reapings mostly, but in other stories, too, like when they announce that there with be a shortage of something or other. District Three has buildings this tall and Seven as well, but those building are much shabbier than these, worn down by time and then put back together with rusting scraps. The buildings here are newer, better kept and brightly lit with the kind of electricity the districts rarely get.

But looking at the pair in front of me, I can imagine that this is still some trick of the Capitol, their way of punishing me for staying alive. It's either that, or I'm really stuck in a world where my life and everyone I know are part of some book.

It's almost enough to make me wish for a Capitol experiment.

The idea that I'm only a character in a book is…impossible, unthinkable. I force myself to take in a deep breath, to feel the air expanding my lungs, the thrum of my heart as it pumps blood through my veins. In my mind I picture my district, my home, I smell the scent of freshly baked bread in the morning. I call up Katniss' face during the opening ceremonies, shining in the flames. These aren't things I've made up, they're not figments of some writer's imagination, my life is real.

"We're going to take this slow, closed set and everything," one of them, I'm not sure which, drones on.

"And there are only four actors: you, Jennifer, and a couple of kids. You walk around a meadow, look at a book, say a couple lines and that's it. Simple," the gray suit says.

"Simple," the other echoes.

They both look at me with bland, indulgent smiles that tell me they expect to get what they've asked for, that these two haven't heard the word "no," and I realize it doesn't matter whether this is a Capitol mind game, because the rules are still the same. I don't have a choice.

My time for objecting must have run out because the two of them stand simultaneously and head towards the door. The man in the gray suit comes over to me and puts him hand on my shoulder, "Read over the material. New rehearsals start day after tomorrow."

Then they disappear through the door, leaving me alone in the apartment, lost in this strange world with my life's epilogue sitting in my lap. I pick up the folder again, its plastic cover sticking to my fingers, leaving a rippled smudge where I've gripped it too hard. How can my life have an epilogue? I'm only sixteen, I haven't lived any of this yet. An uneasy feeling oozes its way through my body, tightening my throat and chest. Everything in me doesn't want to read the words written between these pages. What if it says I die?

Music blares to life from somewhere in the apartment, shaking me from my morbid thoughts. I search the room and, in a few seconds I find its source lying on the couch. It's a small rectangle, incredibly sleek and smooth. The music sounds once more before the device vibrates and a message appears: On my way up. I touch the concave button at the bottom and the screen changes, filling with an image of the girl from the hospital, the one that plays Katniss in the movie. Jen

I'd wondered what happened to her. Jen vanished after she figured out I wasn't Josh, nearly running from the hospital room when I insisted that I really was Peeta Mellark. She'd been my most frequent visitor before they dumped me here. Not that I can complain about the apartment. It reminds me of the rooms at the Training Center, beautiful and impersonal.

She knocks moments later, trailed by a tall man with dark hair. He takes up a position outside as she breezes in wearing an oversize floppy hat over her blonde hair.

"I didn't know they were letting you out today," she says, flinging the hat onto one of the nearby tables and finger combing her hair.

"I didn't either," I can't explain why, but I can't deny that a part of me is relieved to see her. Maybe it's because she's the only person who knows who I really am. I give her a smile. "I thought I was the only one they keep in the dark."

She looks at me, staring at me blank-faced, before reaching fingers out to brush along my jaw. "It has to be you," she breathes. "No one else has your smile."

I catch her hand and pull it down from my face. "I'm not him," I say.

Jen pushes against my chest, not hard, but enough to send me a step back. "You have to be Josh, because if you're not, that means…that means." She shakes her head in denial before continuing in a hoarse whisper. "It means I don't know where he is."

Her blue eyes fill with tears and there's nothing I can do, but pull her into my arms and she buries her face in my shoulder. "So, please just be Josh," she murmuring into the fabric of my shirt. "You have to come back to me."

"I'll help you get him back," I tell her, smoothing her hair. "I promise."

She sighs, her breath tickling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. "I guess that's all I can ask." She leans back, taking her arms from around my neck to wipe her eyes. "Even though I usually ask for a lot more. That's the first thing you need to know about me. I'm very demanding."

"That's okay. I already kind of noticed it," I say.

She lets out a laugh, an open-mouth laugh that belies the tears she just shed. "So, do you have any food? I'm starving."

For a moment, she sounds so much like Katniss, I'm the one staring, but she isn't paying attention to me anymore. She looks around before heading in the direction of the small kitchen. Someone must have stocked it before I got here because fruit and various baked goods wrapped in plastic are sitting on the countertop. Jennifer opens the refrigerator and it's full, too.

She pulls the plastic dome off a platter of sandwiches to get one out. "Want one?" she asks, taking a bite. I shake my head. I haven't been very hungry since I work up in the hospital. I don't know what it means, considering how little I had to eat that last week in the arena.

"I don't know why they had to set you up all the way across town from the other apartments we've been using," she says. She grabs the other half of the sandwich and a soda before heading back to the living room. I trail her back, not completely sure what to do with this whirlwind of a girl.

"I didn't come all the way over here just to eat your food," Jen says.

"I was wondering about that," I say.

Her eyes narrow and she points a purple-tipped finger at me. "Don't be a wiseass."

"Sorry," I say, but I'm fighting a smile.

"Wiseass," she repeats. "Anyway, Francis thinks we need to go over the script together first, before the rehearsal. There aren't going to be a lot of crew there and they're not supposed to say anything about what happens on set, but the studio doesn't want rumors."

I pick up the script I left on the chair. "If this were your future, would you read it?"

"Josh…can I call you Josh? Because the other's just too weird," she asks.

I shrug, it doesn't really matter and I can tell it makes her feel better to think of me that way.

"It can't be your future, it's a story. I'm as open-minded as anyone, I believe in ghosts and everything, but it's not possible. Peeta Mellark isn't real."

"I am real!" I say, my voice too loud, even in my own ears.

"Look," she says just as loudly. "You have to calm down."

I rake my hand through my shortened hair and try to fight back the frustration.

"Either way, it's not a bad future, all things considered," she says. "After the Games and all the destruction, it's a miracle any of the characters make it to an epilogue, at all."

"What destruction?" I mutter, finally taking a seat in the chair I'd vacated earlier. It's tempting and terrifying, talking to someone who knows your future. What exactly is a not bad future? One like Haymitch, shepherding tributes to the Games year after year? Being with Katniss?

She looks over at me and frowns. "What do you mean, what destruction? The three books and four movies worth of crap these characters go through."

"The last thing I remember is Claudius Templesmith announcing that Katniss and I were victors. We spit out the berries, the hovercraft appeared, and I blacked out. That's it."

"That's all you remember? Why'd you stop there?"

"That's all I know happened."

"Well, that's…damn I'm trying not to say the word crazy, but this is a boatload of crazy. And I'm usually the crazy one," she says almost to herself. "I guess it could be worse, you could think you're Mockingjay Peeta."

"I think," I say slowly. "I need to see this movie or read this book…maybe then something will…I don't know…click." It's strange, I can't stand the idea of reading the epilogue to my life, it's too much like seeing your own grave, but hearing about other events doesn't seem as bad.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Jen says, cautiously. "Not without doctor clearance. Besides, it would take at least a couple days to read all the books."

"What about the movie?"

"There's four of those and we're just finishing up the last one. After the epilogue, we're done"

"If the doctor cleared me to be in the movie, then I don't think I need some kind of permission to watch the other ones."

"I don't really like watching old movies of mine," she says frowning. "And I don't want to leave you here alone, either."

"Maybe I'll see myself in the movie and remember that's I'm Josh," I say. There's no way in the world that's going to happen, mostly because I'm not Josh, but I say it anyway.

"Fine," she groans. "But you're getting pizza."

"Just tell me where I can get it."

She gets up and goes to the door and says something to the man out front. He leaves and comes back with a small duffle bag.

"This is Gil," Jen says, "He's my bodyguard."

I shake hands with the man, who looks kind of confused before hiding the expression. He must have known Josh. A bodyguard…huh. I don't think I'd realized how big all of this is. Jen must be very famous to need someone trailing her around everywhere. There are movies and rich actors in the Capitol, but it's always been a purely Capitol phenomenon, most people in the districts don't have time to bother with celebrities.

She takes the bag from Gil. "And mama likes to get comfortable watching television."

Jen goes off towards the bathroom and Gil stations himself discreetly in the corner. When she comes back out, she's dressed in tiny blue shorts and a long tank.

"You came prepared to get comfortable?" I ask.

Her cheeks turn softly pink. "I thought you might want me to stay." She turns away from me and gets the backpack they gave me at the hospital. There wasn't any time for me to look through it, but Jen immediate unzips the side pocket and pulls out a wallet.

"You're still getting the pizza," she says, taking out a silver plastic card. Jokes on her, though, all of that stuff belongs to Josh.

The food comes and Jen orders the movie on the television, again thanks to Josh's little silver card. I sit next to her on the couch, her her long lean leg pressed against mine, when I'm hit with a wave of nervousness just as the first words appear on the screen. I almost tell Jen to stop the movie, that I can't take seeing it after all, but I bit my tongue and the movie begins.