15. Pacing and Tracing

The tribute train looks nothing like it used to. Where there were once velvety couches and silk lined seats, they are now leather booth seats lining both walls with no couches in view. Instead, there are small tables scattered across the floor in random places. The touches of the Capitol influence are still here, however. Seemingly unmatched colors added to everything. What can only be real golden leaves traipsing haphazardly across the borders at the bottom of the wall. And still we each have our own compartment exquisitely decorated like extravagantly regal bedrooms.

In my car there is also Peeta, Haymitch, and Effie. I can't help but feel it's a reunion of sorts. A part of me wonders why Effie isn't rooming with her husband-though even thinking of Effie as Mrs. Heavensbee, feels odd-but she soon makes it clear that she is just here to give us instructions and then she will make her way back to her own compartment. I wonder where Gale is staying but she soon mentions that the Guards also have their own quarters nearer to the front and back of the train, just in case anything goes wrong.

"We shall all be expected to be on our best behaviors…Haymitch." Effie says stopping to glare at Haymitch, who is looking a little green in the face. I can't tell if he is still not drinking or if he just got through drinking, but it makes me nervous when I remember that my first meeting with the two of them ended with him vomiting on the now white floor. I am looking at the floor and my eyes meet Peeta's as he seems to have been recalling the same thing. He smiles slightly, and then, as if remembering something, his smile drops, and he turns away. I am nervous being in the car with him. So close, but he's still so far away. I recall that when he came to District 13, when I was the Mockingjay, and he was hijacked that's how I always felt, then. That's how I still feel now, I realize, and it makes me a little sad.

I look up at Effie and she is still prattling on instructions "…in the President's presence, women curtsy, and men bow, and of course-" she puts her hand beneath my chin tilting my face upwards until I am looking into Peeta's blue eyes, his face being forced upward by her other hand "Chins up! Smiles bright!" She steps back and stares at the both of us, her eyes brimming with tears. "My little victors; so, grown up, so wise beyond your young years." She nods shortly and says in a small voice that doesn't match her usual upbeat demeanor. "With all that has happened I just want you to know that I am so proud of both of you." And she leans down squeezing us into an awkward hug that causes her yellow wig to slide off-kilter.

As she stands up, I hesitate to tell her that it's crooked, and look over at Peeta, who smiles conspiratorially and shrugs. Haymitch is laying his head on the table moaning. As Effie walks away, her yellow wig cocked to the side revealing a black hairnet interrupted by black strands that I can only assume are her natural curls, I stifle my laughter with my wrist thinking of Heavensbee trying to inconspicuously slide his wife's wig back on. I look over expecting to see Peeta sitting there sharing in on our joke, when I see that he is gone. It's as if he's vanished into thin air.

************************************************************************************* In the night, when everyone is asleep, I get up from my restless bed and walk out into the common room. I've always hated the way that these trains move along so smoothly. At first the speed was so fast that it took my breath away. But once used to it, the movement is so imperceptible that it's as if I am standing in place. Only the slight tremor as I lift my legs to move forward signifies that the ground beneath is not stilled.

I walk easily exploring the car, something that I've never been able to do before, never wanted to do. Every other time, it was on a ride to the Games or the Capitol. Now, I am just another person going to a ball and I am free to do whatever I please. The thought in itself makes me feel emboldened.

I walk around noiselessly examining the craftsmanship of every piece of furniture. I don't even think of it but with each curve of the wood my fingers trace I am mindlessly playing my counting game. 1. Finnick, Sandal wood drawers. 2. Jackson, Oak table with rounded edges. 3. Cinna…Bureau, redwood. I am sure that counting the dead as a comfort isn't a normal thing to do but I can't seem to stop. Gazing in drawers for ghosts, checking around corners for spirits, as I tally off my personal and familiar death toll. It's just something I don't really think about anymore, it is so a part of my life.

I am just making my way over to the leather seats, up to 20 in my count (Cressida) when I hear it. It is a low hum. A ghostly murmur only it sounds very real. Not like the voices I sometimes hear screaming to me from the darkness. No. I can almost make out chanting, can definitely hear the breathing. The person is in the room, with me.

The first thing I think of is my bow and why Haymitch made me to leave it home. Then my boots. Effie snuck back through my luggage and tossed them out, not knowing they held my pocketknife. No, I am not the Mockingjay, armed to the hilt with the latest in Capitol weapons. I am just plain old Katniss, weaponless, in my bare feet and grey night shorts. But would someone really be in this car who can hurt me?

I steady my breathing and think of Haymitch's advice, try to talk myself down. Get it together, Katniss, no one is here to hurt you, I think, but that doesn't calm the rapid beating of my heart, the trembling of my fingers as I turn to walk back slowly to my compartment. Then the chanting noise stops. I stand still, freeze as the sound does. For a moment all I hear is the barely there sound of my own breath as I try to imagine why I feel so afraid. Again, who could possibly be of a danger to me on this train? And then I remember yesterday morning with his cold eyes and the knife. And I think his name at the same time he says mine.

"Katniss?"

Peeta.