And we're back to Effie and the present timeline!
Chapter 10
When it feels like the end
All the warmth of the afternoon had gone. Now the moon hid behind stormy clouds while the wind howled and wailed, drowning out all other sounds.
Effie heard it where she lay in Katniss's and Peeta's guestroom. Yes, she was still here. Despite what Johanna had said, despite her own better judgment. She'd come as far as the train station but when it was her turn to board after Annie, Finn and Johanna, she just couldn't.
That hour she'd spent packing she half-hoped Haymitch would come out of his room and make peace. They always made peace eventually. But he never showed. And when she returned he'd locked the door. Haymitch who never locked his door.
Over the years they'd had worse fights than this. They'd screamed vicious things at each other, cruel things. She'd thrown objects his way, though it shamed her to admit it. More than once they'd parted after a Games so bitter at each other they didn't even say goodbye before Haymitch left for District 12.
But one way or the other, easily or not so easily, they always got over it, seeing it for what it was. Because at the end of the day they knew where they had each other.
So why then couldn't she leave now? Or even sleep. Not because they had sex, she told herself. It didn't even bother her too much that he regretted it so. They should never have scratched that itch in the first place.
But she worried for him, like she always worried for Haymitch.
And there was something else too. Something that tugged at her mind, leaving her no rest. Like a half-forgotten memory she had to remember.
When the clock turned 2AM she couldn't take it any longer. She pulled on her morning gown and went straight out into the storm.
"Haymitch!" She had to shout to be heard over the wind that did its very best to blow her over. The door was as locked as ever but Effie pounded on it, worse than Katniss. "Haymitch, please let me in!"
Would she have to smash open a window?
She went to the back garden, shivering with goose bumps all over her bare arms and legs. But she found the old ladder there in the grass and managed to lean it against the short end of the house and the window on the second floor. It was the one that wouldn't shut properly. She'd been at him several times about getting it fixed.
Now it became her way in.
Effie Trinket wasn't afraid of heights but when the ladder swayed under her feet and the wind tugged and tore at her morning gown she wondered if the children would just find her with a broken neck tomorrow.
But all the way up she got and with good aid of her long nails she managed to force open the window and crawl inside.
It was so dark. Not even a moon to light her way. It was long since the power had gone out and she kept her hands outstretched as she walked the corridor and to his bedroom, carefully so she wouldn't end up stepping on him.
"Haymitch?" Her hands brushed over the cold tangled sheets of his bed. She got out a candle from the nightstand and the light illuminated her pale face. Shadows flickered off the walls but Haymitch was nowhere to be found.
There were more candles in a kitchen drawer. She'd stashed them there herself and with an old candlestick in hand she walked from room to room, searching for him.
The door to the study was ajar. She couldn't remember the last time Haymitch had found a reason to go in there. But she pushed inside and the hinges creaked from disuse.
The room was a mess. The large desk of polished wood, the carved straight-backed chairs, the mahogany grand piano, they were all in the wrong place or knocked over, the carpets tangled together. Like someone had barged in here in anger or fear.
She found him in the corner. Back up against the wall, arms and legs sprawled out before him. His eyes were open, the lashes shadowed his cheeks when he blinked but he didn't look at her. He didn't look at anything.
Effie set the candlestick aside and crouched before him, her face close to his and her chest tightened when she saw the claw marks.
"Haymitch," she said softly. She took one of his large hands. The nails were caked with blood from when he'd dug them in to his face, against something terrible only he could see. "Haymitch, it's me. It's Effie."
He didn't respond. Didn't acknowledge her in any way. The only real sign of life in him was the slow rise and fall of his chest.
The old Effie, the clueless, young escort of so many years ago, might have passed it off as just too much booze or if not tried to shake him, calling his name each time more and more panicky. Now she knew better. Knew it all too well.
She went and lit more candles. Walked from the kitchen to the living room and bathroom getting out soft, clean towels and other things she needed. Filled a bowl of lukewarm water and brought it all back with her into the study.
She placed a cushion behind Haymitch's back, the blanket over his lap and so it covered his naked feet. All the while she spoke to him, telling him what she was doing.
And then Effie sat down cross-legged by his side, the bowl of water on her lap. She wet one of the towels and began to gently wash the cuts on his face.
Outside the storm raged on. The house creaked and groaned as if the wind tried to blow it all to pieces. Water ran between Effie's fingers and into the bowl as she wrung the towel out and she began to wash the blood from his nails. There was still no reaction from Haymitch but Effie's voice was calm and soft as a caress, trying to coax him back to her.
He'd never been like this before, not for her to see. But after the war there'd been periods of time when she lay numb and motionless just like this, staring at nothing. Like she'd shatter into a million pieces if she moved or couldn't hold everything together.
She was done with one hand now and began on the other with the same soft and gentle strokes. The water in the bowl had gone pink but Haymitch's hands were soon clean. She patted them dry. The cuts on his face weren't too deep. They'd heal in time. She made an attempt to pull away though and go have a look in the first aid kit – when she felt the lightest of pressures of his hand around hers.
"Eff." His voice was raspy, barely audible but his gray eyes focused on her for the first time all night. "Eff?"
"Yes," she said and squeezed his hand with both of hers.
"You're here?"
"I'm here," she said. "Of course I am."
In the flickering candle light his features seemed so childlike, like he was that young boy again.
"My fault," he said and his voice broke.
"No, Haymitch."
"My fault. I sent 'em away, Effie. I shouldn't have. We should've known. I should've known they weren't gonna let us be. And I sent them away to die. I watched them burn."
"It wasn't your fault, Haymitch."
His hands clutched on to hers to the point of pain and his gray eyes shone with tears.
"It should've been me."
She stayed with him for the rest of the night. It took hours before she could even get him to stand. He leaned heavily against her on their way up the stairs but she managed to help him into bed. And while the storm kept trying to tear the world apart outside, Haymitch eventually fell asleep, completely exhausted.
But Effie lay awake. And with Haymitch's hand still in hers she wept. Silently, because she didn't want to wake him, the tears kept rolling down her face and into the pillow until it was all soaked. She wept for this man next to her that she cared so much about and the young boy he'd once been. For his mother and brother and girl all lost to him. For all the pain he'd suffered and the open wound inside him that would never truly heal.
And for leaving him all alone in it.
None of you know what's going on inside a victor's head. Johanna couldn't have been more right. Because of what happened in the woods Effie had jumped straight to the conclusion that it was about her. His behavior these past few days. But it never was. At least not primarily.
Haymitch did come back like he said he would. He'd been right outside with the apple basket when he must have heard Annie play the piano while Finn sang. Had it triggered some kind of flashback? A painful memory associated with the old song? Whatever it was he just dropped everything and fled. Who wouldn't?
And then everything just deteriorated from there.
All the clues had been there right in front of her and she'd misunderstood every single one of them. He didn't make it easy not to. But how many times, how many countless times hadn't he been there for her, picking up the pieces? And when he was the one in need she wasn't able to recognize it. She just left him here to suffer.
For that Effie sobbed and would so for the rest of the night.
But Haymitch slept, unaware that there was someone who cried for his sake. And when he woke the next morning, alone in bed and with a throbbing headache, he was positive all that with Effie the other night was just another cruel trick of his mind.
Until he walked downstairs and happened to look out the window and there she was. With a bucket in hand, shakily feeding the geese.