Justice at Last
A week later, the first trials against those who worked for Snow's regime or the Hunger Games begin. A lot of names are on the list, many so influential and well-known that it never occurred to me that they might one day be convicted of anything. I don't think we Capitols would have even dreamed of this. It starts off easy, with the small fish in the pond, until process after process the big fish are finished off. Snow is last. His execution, which is almost certain, will be the first. The starting signal for the final slaughter.
When Haymitch finds out about the charges against me, he's suddenly the one who threatens to freak out. He can't believe Coin and her people would actually accuse me; after everything that happened to me. And then also for crimes against humanity. There is no worse charge. She did it on purpose. At least that's what he curses when he loses his nerve and destroys the furniture in our room.
It was clear that they would charge me. The few months in prison don't change the years I've worked as an escort. The Rebels hate the Capitol and everyone in it, as I learned firsthand in District 13. They would never simply ignore my existence, not when I am such a prominent figurehead as escort for District 12. The only still living Hunger Games escort. The Mockingjay's escort. How could Haymitch assume they would leave me alone? Even Johanna isn't surprised after she finds out about it.
Haymitch started drinking again. The day after he found out about the charges, I caught him with a bottle of whiskey, and it felt like someone had grabbed me and thrown me back in time. I want to be angry. I am angry. But I can't blame him. The Capitol is not a pleasant place for him either. Then there's the war, Katniss and Peeta, my trial. I could list a dozen other things that bother him. So much has happened around me in the last few days that I almost forgot that his suffering also continues. Haymitch drinks and I'm disappointed and we argue but given the circumstances we're both too fragile to stay mad at each other for long.
The coming trial upsets Haymitch more than it does me. I've long since come to terms with it, I've always just feared going back to prison. Haymitch on the other hand can't sit still. When he doesn't take care of the children or other rebellious organization, he fights alongside Plutarch with Coin to stop the prosecution against me. I know about this because Johanna tells me, not because Haymitch tells me the truth. His thoughts are usually so distracted that we rarely speak to each other. The war is over and yet we can't seem to find peace in this new world because this new world doesn't want to give us rest.
I can't say what exactly Haymitch ended up negotiating with President Coin, if he was able to persuade her to do anything at all, although he is not a man to be underestimated in rebel society. Haymitch has powerful allies and has built his own influence, even if he will never admit facts like these. He doesn't care about the power he holds except when it actually matters; except in moments like now. Despite his assurances that everything will be fine, his fingers are shaking as we stand in front of the courthouse. I link my hand with his and he squeezes mine in response as we let the power of the coming hours sink in for a brief moment.
"Everything will be okay," Haymitch says for what feels like the fifth time today and I can't shake the suspicion that the words are intended more for him than for me.
"I know," I answer, even though I actually have next to no idea what will happen as soon as I cross that threshold. Worst case scenario I'll be sentenced to death, best case scenario ... I'll get off scot-free? I am guilty. I know I'm guilty and the rest of the world knows it too. Even Haymitch.
I have never set foot in the court before and can't judge whether much has changed here. It's at least as heavily guarded as the prison. Men and women in gray uniforms stand everywhere with their weapons in a tight grip. You can clearly see where the Capitol logos once were because the paint on the wall is cracked or completely peeled off. The flag of Panem hangs temporarily on some walls with duct tape.
Haymitch and I walk through a metal detector and are examined by soldiers on the other side before we are met by the escort that accompanies us from here. I'm grateful that no one is handcuffing me. Now that I think about it, I'm glad I wasn't picked up at the palace and escorted here like they do with the other defendants, all of whom are in captivity. Fact is that I'm the only defendant who is currently at large.
I'm told my trial won't be in public and I glance at Haymitch out of the corner of my eye. That is new. Something he must have achieved with Coin. Haymitch doesn't let anything show. That's good. That's really good. This explains why there were so few onlookers outside the court to watch Effie Trinket enter the court. The press will still report on it. When I leave here this afternoon, my reputation in the Capitol will be over. Although I'm pretty sure the people of the Capitol have already considered me a traitor since my interview with Caesar.
In the eyes of the Capitol, I'm a traitorous rebel. In the eyes of the Rebels, I'm a ruthless Capitol. I'm alone. Neither of them want me. No matter what my verdict is today, one side will be dissatisfied.
The soldier-escort leads us through the halls of the court and for a few minutes we wander around or climb stairs. The floors are lined with dark red, thick carpets, the doors to the rooms and halls are made of solid mahogany and wide, golden chandeliers hang from the ceilings, bathing the corridors in yellowish light. On the upper floors, the corridors are arranged so that one side is glass, and you can look out onto the streets of the Capitol.
Everywhere there are display cases with antiquated items and pictures from various parts of the country. They are all labeled with precise locations and dates. They all show scenes from before or shortly after the Dark Days, in which someone is wronged. People hanging others. Lifeless bodies loaded onto white trucks. Children and adults with weapons in their hands, grinning into the camera while a soldier bleeds on the ground. The pictures are all so sharp that you could think they were taken recently. But the only thing on the pictures that seems familiar to me are the slightly altered uniforms of the Peacekeepers. Everywhere they appear, they are depicted as glorious, helpful, or as victims of the first war.
Haymitch stares as fascinated as I do at the pictures that follow us down the corridors. Only a few of them are from District 12. But then we walk past a photo that almost makes him stop. The wide-angle shot was taken from a mountaintop and shows a city in the middle of a forest area. You can make out white Peacekeepers who can be seen like little figures in the distance on the outskirts of the city. Some are pushing wooden posts around the area, others are stretching nets that glitter metallic in the sun. At the bottom left of the picture it says: Establishment of the border, District 12, End of the Rebellion.
I'm sure Haymitch is mentally adding End of the First Rebellion. Looking back into the past spreads an uneasy feeling in my body. In Capitol school they don't teach you much about the Rebellion and the Dark Days. In fact, it's exactly the same thing the children in the Districts are learning: The Districts conspired to rebel against the Capitol, their provider and protector, because they were greedy and power-hungry; and that they paid this betrayal at the greatest possible price. But these images speak such a clear language of pain, bloodshed and death that I wonder how much of the truth about this war the Capitol has hidden over the decades. These images, in their brutality, are reminiscent of the Hunger Games, but show much worse.
The soldiers in front of us turn the next corner and before I can delve deeper into my questions, they come to a stop at one of the smaller mahogany doors. One of them, the captain of the unit, opens it and nods for Haymitch and me to enter. Two of them follow us in, then the door closes with a thud.
We are standing in a courtroom that is so small that it is not actually a courtroom. A room, a large space, nothing more. Very different from the room where I received my first death sentence all those months ago. A podium for the judge, next to it a seat for the defendant. A few meters in front of it is a long table with chairs on both sides. No benches for onlookers. Good, I think to myself at first. But my first trial was also closed to the public. Closed to the public. My breath catches as I remember. Maybe Haymitch has nothing to do with this matter at all. Because when there's no one there to watch, it's easier to cover up what actually happened.
Two people stand behind the wooden table. The judge is not a Capitol man, which was to be expected. He wears the usual judge's robes with a gray Rebel badge on his chest. One of Coin's soldiers stands next to him. I've seen him at the Presidential Palace enough times to know that.
"Miss Trinket, Mister Abernathy," the judge greets us in a deep but not unfriendly voice. He doesn't sound surprised that Haymitch is here. Not in the slightest. I take that as a good sign.
"Your Honor," I reply purely as a formality, secretly hoping that this is actually the correct form of address. Because I have no idea. Haymitch on my left is silent. Coin's soldier gives him a nod, which he barely returns, but his lips remain sealed in a serious line, his hands clasped behind his upright back, his gray eyes calculatingly fixed on the judge.
"I am Judge Mickens, please sit down." Judge Mickens points to the table and we follow his example and sit on the wide wooden chairs, in front of whose long backrests my body completely disappears. The table is lined with paperwork and as I look closer, I see copies of photos and video recordings that undoubtedly show me. I look away abruptly before I can take a closer look at them. I don't want to accidentally discover one from my captivity.
Coin's soldier takes a seat next to Judge Mickens and reaches for a clipboard that is lying a little away from the messy pile of papers. His strong, pale fingers begin to scribble something on the first page, but other than having to read the words upside down, his handwriting is too jumbled to make out anything.
"This is Sergeant Lynch. On behalf of President Coin, he monitors the penal procedures and records everything," Mickens explains slowly and clearly, giving me a long look with his dark brown eyes, as if he wanted to make sure that he informed me about all the formalities. I nod. His attention shifts to the documents in front of him and then he begins to leaf through some papers. Sergeant Lynch places an audio device between us and presses the record button. For the first time since I entered the room, he looks me directly in the eyes. He looks unhappy. Before I can think about it, the judge continues. "You are Euphemia Trinket, thirty-six years old, born here in the Capitol, unmarried, and most recently serving as an escort for District Twelve in the Hunger Games. Is that correct?"
"That is correct." My voice sounds emotionless and stronger than I expected.
Judge Mickens nods, Sergeant Lynch checks a box and then we move on. "The defendant Euphemia Trinket, personal details as previously stated, is charged with the following: Crimes against humanity, more specifically defined as intentional complicity in the systematic murder of minors in eighteen cases by drawing the tributes during the annual Reaping for the Hunger Games in the role of escort who, by definition of the Treaty of Treason underParagraph Twelve, is responsible for the annual drawing of the tributes and their care during the duration of the Hunger Games. The charges are based on the newly enacted criminal law, which penalized this action. The possible maximum penalty is the death penalty. This and only this judgment today is final. There is no possibility of appeal."
Judge Mickens pauses, looks up at me, mirroring the neutrality of my own facial features. His brown skin wrinkles his forehead, giving him a critical impression. "You have the right to remain silent, but of course you may speak. I will now ask you some questions and present evidence. Once this part is completed, I will proceed to the sentencing."
I nod again, but the familiar panic is slowly running through my veins, even though this judge is a lot friendlier than the last one I sat across from. "Miss Trinket, you have heard the charges against you. You are accused of deliberately and systematically helping in the murder of eighteen children. Premeditated because, according to our documents, you freely applied for the position of escort twelve years ago. Is that correct?"
"That is correct," I say. "I volunteered for the position and wanted to take it." I feel Haymitch tense next to me, but I can't tell if it's because it pains him to hear the words coming out of my mouth or because it bothers him that I don't exercise my right to remain silent.
Sergeant Lynch makes a note of something, his face now a facade of stone, quite similar to Haymitch's. "From the prosecution's perspective, it is clear that you are guilty of the charges. We have hundreds of pieces of evidence for this. Pictures, videos, newspaper articles. However, you have the right to defend yourself and tell us your point of view. Are you guilty as charged, Miss Trinket?"
For a long minute I feel a painful throbbing in my temples. I squeeze my eyelids together and take a deep breath. The heart in my chest beats evenly and steadily, unlike what I would have expected in this moment of truth. I decided a long time ago how I would answer this question. There is only one answer. To deny my actions would be disrespectful. Not just to all the children I've lost over the years, but also to myself.
I believed in everything I'm accused of. I believed in the Hunger Games, in the Capitol, and in President Snow. For far too long I thought I was on the right side. But I also remember the exact day when this mountain of lies and propaganda blew up in my face. I remember the exact day that mountain collapsed on me and broke my heart.
It gets better as the years go by, Haymitch once told me a very long time ago. As the years go by, you forget their faces. It's as if they never existed, as if they were never there. Haymitch was wrong. That may have been true for him, but for me it was the opposite. I can remember them all. From Elowen and Ramon from my first year to Katniss and Peeta. Yes, the memories of the dead are fading, but I haven't forgotten them. My sketchbook with all their faces is still lying somewhere in the penthouse of the Training Center, in case the Peacekeepers haven't found and confiscated it.
"Yes, I am guilty," I confess, feeling good, feeling better after finally saying it. It doesn't change anything, but any denial would have denied the existence of these children.
I have no idea if I should have avoided those words. Haymitch didn't tell me anything about the trial in advance, but I see surprise on Mickens' and Lynch's faces, as if they were expecting resistance from me. I wonder how many of the other defendants plead guilty so openly. Their eyes move from me to Haymitch, and they become serious again.
"This saves us a lot of time," begins Judge Mickens, pushing a stack of papers aside. Probably just a fraction of the evidence that brands me guilty. "Before I get to the sentence, I have a few more questions regarding the last two years. What is your connection to Katniss Everdeen?"
"I drew her sister Primrose as female tribute for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games and Katniss volunteered in her place. Since then, I was her escort until the end of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games," I explain, but I don't really know how that is relevant.
"Do you know about the list that Miss Everdeen made in District Thirteen to grant impunity to the victors, which she presented to President Coin as part of the Mockingjay-deal?" Mickens asks next, raising a black, bushy eyebrow in anticipation. When I nod, he continues. "Miss Everdeen subsequently attempted to add you to this list, but Coin refused. Do you know why she wanted you on the list?"
For a second, I don't know what to say. I open my mouth but hesitate. Katniss and my relationship was never one of extraordinary affection, at least not on her part. But she respects me. "I was part of her team," I finally say, still searching for the right words. "A team sticks together."
"So you have supported Miss Everdeen at all times?"
"Yes, I have. I would never have done anything to harm her or Peeta." It's the truth, although of course you can interpret it however you want. It makes you wonder if I just care about them because they are my victors or if I actually value the people behind them. I'm expecting exactly that to be the next question when Judge Mickens throws me off course again. But this time I can't manage to catch myself. This time I fall right over the cliff's edge and shatter at its ground.
"I would now ask you to tell us your story following the abrupt end of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games. We already know that Mister Abernathy left you at the Training Center on the night of the third to the fourth day to leave for District Thirteen. Most of what happened afterward is a mystery to the Rebels because the Peacekeepers went to great lengths to cover up anything officially illegal. Tell us everything, in as much detail as possible. Anything you remember is helpful."
"What is that relevant to?" asks Haymitch in a sharp voice.
"Miss Trinket was held captive by the Capitol and tortured like the other captured victors," Sergeant Lynch replies on Mickens' behalf. A thin smile creeps onto his lips, sending a shiver down my spine. "The more details, the more relevant to the sentence. This will help us determine whether Miss Trinket's sentence might be lessened by the Capitol's crimes against her. That's in your interest, isn't it, Abernathy?"
I can hear Haymitch gritting his teeth next to me, but he remains silent. This is Coin's message to him. You want to save her? Then watch her suffer.
"Ready, Miss Trinket?" Judge Mickens asks politely.
"I was arrested in the penthouse by Peacekeepers," I begin my monologue. I don't feel like they're going to interrupt me. "From there, I was taken to the prison where the other victors were also held. I was interrogated by a man, Corporal Cullen. He asked me some questions about the Rebellion that I couldn't answer. I spent the first night in a normal cell. The next day I had my trial, also with the public excluded. I was found guilty of treason and was told that the sentence would be carried out immediately." I leave out how I freaked out and one of the Peacekeepers shot me in the leg. "The next thing I remember is waking up in a dark room. I–" I swallow and feel the insides of my hands getting wet. "I was tied to a bed, and they fed me through tubes. They left me in that condition for two weeks, I found out later during my further interrogations. From then on, I was always interrogated by the same Peacekeeper. He introduced himself to me as Adrian."
Saying his name takes my breath away. I feel like I'm being hit by a train and Haymitch next to me must feel me slipping. He grabs my hand and squeezes it so hard it hurts. Stay in the here and now. Don't disappear.
I squint and focus on the pain in my hand. "After the first interrogation, I was taken to a new cell. They called it Sector Seven. I spent most of my time there. They tortured me." My voice cracks and I want to stop, but then I remember Lynch's words. The more details, the more relevant to the sentence. Suddenly an anger shoots through my veins, pushing back the fear. I turn my eyes to Coin's soldier and think of the old Effie, who knew how to put men in their place with just her eyes. "Blows, kicks, electric shocks. Do you also want to know what I ate?" I mean to sound mocking, but instead my tone is full of torment.
I don't turn to Haymitch because I don't want to see the emotions in his eyes. I know he blames himself for what happened to me. "Some time later, I don't know how much time passed, Adrian took me to a morgue. I don't know if they had been prisoners once too, but they also had children from Districts there." I try with all my might to keep the images out of my mind's eye, but that's hardly possible when I'm telling the story at the same time. I leave out that they fed me a child out of 12. I can't bring myself to say these words out loud.
"I killed Adrian there that day," I say, my voice sounding dead. The mood in the room is so charged that I could grab it if I wanted to. I don't find the strength to explain this sentence. Instead, I continue as if I hadn't just confessed to another murder. "A few days later they faked my execution. They gave me a serum that caused hallucinations. They even shot me in the head with something, but I don't know what it was. Afterwards they picked me up and took me to a new cell. Johanna Mason was in the one next to me. They tortured her but left me alone. At some point they put us in one cell."
I clear my throat and look down at the table. My eyes linger on the images I was just trying to ignore. But now, when my body is shaking and I feel like I'm going to collapse any second, they're distracting me. I point to one of the pictures with trembling fingers. "That was the interview after they executed my parents," I say hoarsely. "I remember the dress. They wiped the blood from my hands before they put me there on stage because I banged so hard on the window that separated me from my parents." I feel myself getting lost in the details; feel my mother's ice blue eyes on me before the bullet passes through her skull.
The room is too hot, the air is too stuffy, my chest is squeezed like there is no room left here. Everything is spinning, only the images in my mind's eye are crystal clear. Now that I'm in the Capitol, even more so than when I was in District 13. I want to jump up, turn around and run. I want to hide and cry when there is no spark of these emotions left in my body. Part of me just wants to submit to my sentence, no matter how bad, just so I don't have to say another word.
I want to forget. I don't want to remember. And despite everything, I carry on. I do not know how. "It was the first time I'd seen Peeta since the Hunger Games. Johanna told me that he lived in the cell next to her for a while before me, but at the end they moved him somewhere else. I only saw him in those two interviews that Caesar Flickerman did with us. The first in the television studio, the second in the Presidential Palace. After Peeta's warning, they left us alone for a few days. Then they came back with several Peacekeepers. They took Johanna and tortured me. That was the last time. They fled when an alarm sounded. Sometime after that I woke up in District Thirteen."
Now they know everything. Almost everything. That should be enough. That should be enough details. I feel the need to vomit. Haymitch still squeezes my fingers, but I no longer feel the pain. There's an emptiness in my stomach that blocks out everything else. An emptiness that swallowed me up so often back then, without which I certainly wouldn't have survived my imprisonment. My body is shaking, my emotions are exhausted.
Sergeant Lynch praises me for my strength, and I feel the need to punch him in the face. From the way Haymitch's head snaps towards him, I think he's having similar thoughts. "Your stories give us a good insight into the horror that you and the other victors experienced at the hands of the Capitol," says Judge Mickens after a long throat clearing. His skin has turned pale around his nose. "Your imprisonment, evidently prompted by suspected information about the Rebellion, is a significant factor that I will take into account in your sentencing. The suspicion that you secretly worked for the Rebels has never been disproven. I furthermore have two statements from victors that confirm your loyalty to the Rebel's cause. Johanna Mason confirms your part of the story regarding the captivity, although she never went into great detail. Furthermore, she testified under oath that you were sympathetic to the Rebels even before your capture. A statement that leaves a lot of room for interpretation, which Mister Abernathy was able to expand on. According to his report, you were the one who secretly fed him information for the Rebellion for years. For example, you were largely responsible for recruiting Cinna, another rebel from the Capitol."
I snap my head to Haymitch, which must certainly seem suspicious, but I just can't help it. He lied under oath and now he's staring into my eyes with such confidence that it's like he actually believes the story himself. Hiring Cinna was pure luck and had absolutely nothing to do with the Rebellion. With so many incompetent stylists, his application had been a blessing anyway. But recruiting? Secret information?
And Johanna also testified in my favor. She didn't tell me that she was even questioned because of me. However, I'm less surprised that she lied under oath. Her respect for Coin isn't much greater than that for Snow. Still, it leaves me speechless.
"Would you like to comment, Miss Trinket?" The facts are correct, are they not?" Mickens now asks. His look makes it clear that he at least suspects that their statements are lies.
I nod, my usual mask in place. "Their statements are true." Lies with which Haymitch and Johanna may have saved my life.
"Then I will now proceed to deliver the verdict," Mickens says, calmly staring at a sheet of paper in front of him, as if the exact words of my verdict were already written down there. As if nothing I said here today ever mattered. I want to believe it's not true. "In the name of the people, the following verdict is rendered. Euphemia Trinket, you are found guilty of crimes against humanity on all counts. In consideration of the fact that you secretly acted in favor of the Rebellion and due to your captivity by the government under President Snow, which found you guilty of treason against the Capitol, a milder penalty is imposed. You have already suffered great hardship, which will surely accompany you for the rest of your life. Therefore, I deem a death penalty or imprisonment to be excessive. Instead, you are required to surrender all property and assets acquired during your tenure as an escort for the Hunger Games to the new government under President Coin. This includes all wealth earned through your employment, excluding personal belongings. All your accounts will be frozen, and your possessions confiscated."
It feels like a weight is lifted from my shoulders that I didn't even know existed until that moment. In my mind's eye, all the years of pain pass by, all the years I worked for the Games. It feels like someone is cutting the last link that still connects me to this part of my past. The pain and guilt are still there, but I can breathe a little easier again. It's concluded. My demons are now officially part of the past. The old Effie is now finally history.
Haymitch next to me presses the air out of his lungs with relief, as if he had been holding it until now. His fingers, which had just squeezed my hand together, intertwine with mine and I hold on to him so as not to lose orientation as we slowly stand up. Judge Mickens moves his lips, Sergeant Lynch exchanges a few words with Haymitch, but nothing reaches my ears. It's like someone has cut the connection to my ears. All I can think about is that this terrible part of my life is now behind me forever. Concluded.
I don't remember how we leave the courtroom or how the soldier guard escort us back to the ground floor. I search in my head for these memories, but there is nothing there. It's like my brain just stopped for a few minutes. Then Haymitch suddenly opens the door to the car for me and I climb in. He hasn't even closed the door properly when he presses his lips to mine.
A murmur of surprise escapes me before I lean towards Haymitch. The car starts moving and I'm glad that the driver is separated from us by a wall as Haymitch wraps his arms around my body and his lips slide over mine. My heart is pounding like crazy in my chest, the blood is rushing to my cheeks and everything I breathe smells like him. My fingers find the back of his neck and I run my fingers through his dark blond hair as his hands move over my body as if he's never touched me before.
The taste of whiskey on his tongue, a stormy kiss in the back of a limousine, that hot passion like we're going to tear each other's clothes off at any second. Suddenly I feel like I've traveled back in time again. Did this court proceeding actually take place or was it all just a wild figment of my imagination? If the car comes to a stop soon, will we stop in front of the Training Center or the Presidential Palace?
Ten minutes later it's the Presidential Palace that appears before our eyes and my insides are relieved. As much as I enjoyed the time back then with Haymitch, I'm glad it's over. What we had was pure desire and the prospect of feelings that could have been had we lived in another world. What we have now may not be exactly what I envisioned for myself, but I wouldn't want it any other way. Because we're living in this other world now.
The car stops, Haymitch jumps out and the next moment he spins me through the air. We stand on the steps of the palace where the man lived who destroyed his life and made it hell, and a smile spreads across his gentle, careless face that makes my heart beat faster. The wind blows our hair into our faces as he grabs my hips and begins to spin. A giggly, happy laugh escapes me, and I wrap my arms around his neck as Haymitch spins us along.
We ignore the strange looks from the soldiers as we walk past them a little later, into the palace and away from the bitter cold that winter has brought with it. It won't last much longer, says Haymitch. Soon the first signs of spring will arrive and by then, everything that keeps us in this place will be gone.
"It's over, Princess," Haymitch whispers in a tone that makes it clear how surreal the whole thing is for him. It's as if he, too, can't believe that these torments that have plagued us for so long are now irrevocably in the past; that we can finally become these new people, of whom he, above all, has dreamed for so many years; in a life he should have been living long ago. "It's all over now."
Slowly, everything is coming to an end. Only three chapters left. What will happen next? What are your thoughts about Effie's trial? Was she lucky or was it all just a farce by Coin? Let me know what you think of this chapter!
Skyllen :)