Chaff didn't think it was a good idea for Clem to sit in the coffin car, but Seeder told her to go. Now, here she is, her one hand resting on Thatcher's casket, wondering if Chaff was right. The casket's been sealed, but she can feel Thatcher's cold corpse beneath the wooden lid. He was weird, and they didn't get along, but she still wants to pay her respects. No one but the Capitol coroner needs to see his stitched-up throat. There are no windows in this section of the train, so Clem listens to the tracks beneath them, clattering as the carriages glide over the metal like herons over the lakes in 11. Just a few more hours until she's home. Her heart leaps every time she thinks about it, imagining the look on her father's face when he sees her step off the train. She's really going home.
She never counted herself out of the games, but she wasn't foolishly optimistic either. A lot worked against everyone. After watching Thresh die last year despite his promising run, she knew anything could happen in the arena. She had resigned herself to the fact that there was a very good chance she would never return to District 11. Even so, she's coming back to a different place now. Though the shack she shares with her father will remain in his name, they'll be moving into the Victors' Village. Seeder insisted they have tea at her place every Saturday, and Chaff invited Clem to play chess on his porch. With the excitement of a more promising future comes the guilt that gnaws at her whenever she feels any joy. The faces of the other tributes cycle through her mind like a pinwheel on a windy day. She knows she shouldn't feel guilt—at least not for the ones she didn't kill—but at the end of the day, she's here and they're not. They're returning to their families to be buried, and she gets to have a future with hers.
Her arm tingles agonizingly with phantom pains as she absently rubs the stump of her right arm. The Capitol offered prosthetic is sounding good about now, and she's considering going back on her prideful rejection. But for now, she's content learning how to manage with her left hand. She's in no rush to accept anything from the Capitol just yet. She glances down at Thatcher's casket and decides she's been here long enough. The carriage feels cold and sterile, and the thought of Thatcher lying lifeless beneath the wooden lid, stitches neatly lining his throat, unsettles her. She pats the lid in a silent goodbye and slips into the next carriage. The coffin car is at the very back of the train. Clem takes her time wandering to the front of the train, noting the interior decorations of the cars. They're the same through every door, but the detail leaves a lot for the eye to discover.
When Clem reaches the dining car at the front of the train, Seeder and Chaff are already at the table. Seeder's hair is pulled messily into a ponytail, and she looks tired. Still, she gives Clem a reassuring smile as she enters.
"Are you alright?" Seeder asks.
Clem nods. "I'd never even seen him before the Reaping."
"I wasn't from the same village as my district partner," Chaff says. "But it didn't make burying her any easier."
Clem recoils slightly. "You buried her?"
"It's customary for the victor to attend the burial of their district partner in the Tribute Graveyard," Seeder explains. "You don't have to bury him literally, but you will have to watch."
Clem sits down with her mentors and silently butters a piece of bread to dunk in her soup. Facing Thatcher's family and friends feels terrifying, but she won the damned Hunger Games. If she can survive that, she'll be okay. When she struggles with the butter, Seeder helps her. Clem thanks her, but irritation bubbles up at the fact that she seemingly can't do simple things anymore. She notices Chaff watching her.
"What."
He shakes his head. "Nothing. You'll get it eventually."
Chaff demonstrates how he butters his toast, holding the bread down with his thumb while spreading the butter with the knife in his other hand.
"You've got the rest of your life to perfect it," Seeder says. "Let's just focus on settling you into the Victors' Village first, eh?"
Clem can barely contain herself as the train pulls into District 11's dingy little station. A small crowd has gathered at the entrance, and she cranes her head, desperate to catch a glimpse of her father. Mayor Hedley is the first to greet her. She assumes it's protocol for the mayor to welcome the victor back, though District 11 hasn't had a victor since before Clem was born, so she's not entirely sure how it's supposed to go. She's never been a fan of Logan's mother. What's there to like about a woman who regularly organises whippings for starving workers who only took a couple of pieces of fruit?
The first thing the mayor says to Clem is, "We're so proud of you!" with outstretched arms, more to greet than to hug. Clem thanks her, though she feels a pang of discomfort. What's there to be proud of in killing people who just wanted to go home?
The boy from District 10, who stalked her the whole final night, seems to breathe down the back of her neck. The memory resurfaces and fades just as quickly. Clem runs her hand across the back of her neck. As Clem descends the entrance stairs, her eyes sweep across the small crowd, seeking her father desperately. She spots her friends, and a grin breaks across her face. Tears prick at her eyes. She holds it together, acutely aware of the Capitol cameras trained on her. Hands clap her on the back as she wades through the mob directly toward them, offering encouragement. Florina envelops her in a hug as she reaches them, muffling her cries into Clem's shoulder.
"I'm so glad you're back," Florina croaks.
Winnow and Logan wrap her in their arms too. When Clem pulls away, she glances around, her heart racing.
"Where's Pa?" Anxiety floods her as the words escape her lips. He's not here. "What's happened to him?"
"Wait until we're out of the crowd," Winnow says through clenched teeth.
Clem can't focus on any of the ceremonies as District 11 welcomes her back. Her mind races, dread gnawing at her insides. What could have happened to her Pa? The thought that she fought so hard to return, only to face some new horror, almost brings her to her knees. It's agony to act happy to be home for the next few hours. The Capitol cameras circle her like vultures until they've decided they've gotten enough footage.
No sooner have they gone to the hotel adjacent to the Justice Building than Clem corners her friends.
"Is he alive? Please tell me he's alive." The desperation in her voice is unmistakable.
"He's alive," Florina says hesitantly. "But he's in a bad way."
"It was all too much for him," Winnow says. "We made sure to be with him during the big events like the opening ceremonies and the interviews. He held on during the festivities, but watching you get pushed into the arena, listening to the commentators talk about the other Quells—it did something to him. He drank himself into a coma. Florina went to your house with her Ma the night of the second day, to be with him for the mandatory viewing."
"He was barely breathing," Florina says. "Unconscious in a pool of his own vomit. Grandpa came all the way down from Victors' Village just to vouch for a spot in the good hospital. Logan begged the mayor to pull some strings."
Clem's knees feel like they might give out, but she manages to stay standing. The image of Pa drinking himself to death at the sight of her fighting for her life in the arena is almost too much to bear.
"Take me to him," she says.
Winnow and Florina don't qualify for a ride in the truck, but Logan, being the mayor's son, sits shoulder to shoulder with Clem in the backseat. The other two give her tight hugs before she departs. For once, Logan stays quiet, and she's thankful for it. Chaff sits in the passenger seat, talking quietly with the Peacekeeper driving. The driver is a bit older than Chaff, but around the same age. They might know each other.
As they roll down the dirt roads, Clem watches the people passing by. Their hunched frames, burdened by inhumane work conditions, are gone. The people of District 11 aren't partying in the streets like she's seen on television for other districts, but there's definitely a sense of joy. A glimmer of hope has rippled through the district.
The hospital her father is in is extremely close to the mayor's house. As they clamber out of the truck, Clem grabs Logan's shoulder, turning him around and enveloping him in a hug.
"Thank you, Logan." She pulls away, allowing herself to be ushered into the hospital.
After spending a week in the Capitol, nothing about this place impresses her,. This is where the upper class of District 11 stay, but everything about it feels like a poor man's version of the Capitol. Had she come here a month ago, she'd be whistling a different tune. She's aware of the audacity she's carrying with her, but, at this moment, she could not care less. Is this hospital advanced enough to save her father's life? A doctor leads her through the corridors. The Tribute Center in the Capitol feels like it's five times larger than this hospital. It barely takes a minute for Clem to reach the room where her father is resting. The doctor opens the door and gestures for Clem to enter.
She takes a breath and steps into the room. Several wires sprout from different places on her Pa's body, monitoring his vitals on a machine beside him. The rhythmic beeping of his heart is a relief. She moves over to his side and sits in the chair beside his bed. Her stump is giving her trouble again, but she ignores it, desperately drinking in her Pa's presence. He's alive. He seems to be doing okay.
"I'm here, Pa. I made it out alive. When you wake up…"
Suddenly, the possibility of him never coming out of this coma crashes over her. He could die not knowing that she survived the Hunger Games. She takes his hand in hers. It's warm, just like always. Her composure is slipping, the unfairness of it all tightening around her chest.
"Please, Pa. Wake up. I need you."
Clem lays her head down on his arm, letting the tears spill down her cheeks. Here, in her father's presence, she's free to tear down the walls she built around herself on that first train to the Capitol. The emotions she's bottled up these past weeks finally pour out through her tears.
The butterflies in Clem's stomach are threatening to spill out of her throat as Chaff opens her front door. She steps inside her mansion, taking in the beautiful interior design and the thought that's seemingly gone into this place. It's almost impossible to believe that this is all for her. The camera crew follow her for an hour as she explores the estate. They decide they've got enough footage for their special, and they leave without saying goodbye. Clem feels comfortable enough to look around where she actually wants, rather than being led around.
"This house has been around for decades, just waiting for someone to live in it?"
"All for you," Chaff says. "For as long as you live, this will be where you live now. Not too shabby, eh?"
Clem runs a finger along a smooth, wooden doorframe. "The doors in my old house were chipping and decaying."
"You'll never need or want for anything now. Practically anything you ask for is at your disposal. I had a pool installed in my backyard years ago."
"Pool?"
"It's like a swimming hole. Come over sometime, and I'll show ya."
He takes her upstairs to her bedroom. It's practically the size of Clem's old house, and that's not counting the bathroom attached to the side of it. The bed is huge, and when she falls onto it, she finds it's softer than the one in the Capitol. She can't help the sigh from her lips, and Chaff grins at her.
"I could get used to this."
"I know," he says. "That's exactly what I said."
Once Clem's explored the wardrobes and tested the showers, Chaff takes her to the stretch of greenery running through the middle of the village. Seeder is sitting at a wooden table with two other men. It doesn't take a genius to deduce that it's Florina's grandfather, Tiller Idowu, and Chicory Simms. Chicory is a tall, broad man who won about fifty years ago. Despite his imposing figure, he has a kind face and a booming laugh. He, Seeder, and Chaff rotate as mentors each year. With Clem's victory, she knows she'll be joining their ranks next year.
The idea of coaching a girl through the Games turns Clem's stomach, so she quickly pushes it from her mind. Tiller is their oldest victor, maybe even the oldest living victor. He's about Clem's height and thin, but not in an unhealthy way. Even in his old age, he's more agile than he should be. Clem has watched his tapes a few times when the school shows them. He was very handsome back in his day.
The table is laden with a spread of food, with paper plates and utensils stacked neatly to the side. Chicory hands her a plate and fork. "Dig in, sweetheart. This is our welcome to you."
"It's been a long time since someone new moved in here," Tiller adds.
As Clem loads her plate with fruit slices, she spots a plaque nailed to the fountain by the entrance gate. She squints to read the inscription, and Seeder notices her curiosity.
"Wren Abara."
"Hm?"
"The plaque. It's for Wren Abara. He won the first Games and killed himself shortly after."
"I wanted some kind of memory in his honor," Tiller says, taking a mouthful of apple pie. "He has a big statue in the Avenue of Victory in the Capitol like the rest of us, but I wanted him to be with us always. Us victors from 11."
Clem frowns. "You all have statues in the Capitol?"
Chicory and Chaff laugh, and Seeder nods, chuckling as well. "Oh yes. I'll take you to the Avenue next year so you can see yourself up close and large. They add a new statue for each of us. They're considerate that way."
It's a beautiful sunny day when Thatcher's body is lowered into the ground. The warmth feels like a punch in the gut. Clem wasn't fond of him, but he was still a teenager who died a brutal death. The sun shouldn't be shining today.
An older woman, who Clem assumes is his mother, stands beside the plot, watching her son disappear into the earth with weary, tired eyes. She hasn't looked at Clem once, which Clem is grateful for. Seeder stands beside her, an arm around Clem's shoulder. As Thatcher's mentor, Seeder likely feels some obligation to attend his burial. The two victors stay until the hired help, two women from the fields, begin shoveling the mound of dirt back into the hole. Seeder places a hand on Clem's shoulder and leads her out of the graveyard. A car waits to take them back to the Victors' Village.
"You can relax now," Seeder says, reapplying her mascara. "Six months until the Victory Tour. I want you to focus on settling into the village, okay?"
"I'll try," Clem responds. "It'll be hard without my Pa."
Seeder's eyes twinkle with a sad understanding, and for a moment, Clem thinks she's going to cry. Instead, the older woman pulls her into a hug.
"I know, honey. We're all here for you. Come knocking on our doors whenever you want. You haven't spoken much with Tiller or Chicory yet, but trust me, they'd give you the shirt off their backs."
Seeder walks Clem to her new house and starts making something to eat while Clem sits at the dining table. She's still drinking in the place as if it's her first time seeing it. No matter how many times she tells herself this is her house now, nothing about it feels real. Less than a month ago, she and Pa were living in their dingy little shack on the outskirts of the village. This house has six bedrooms. Who will fill them? No children, certainly. Clem will never risk bringing a baby into this world. Not with the Reaping hanging over them like a scarecrow.
Seeder places a bowl of cut fruit in front of Clem and takes the seat beside her, insisting she eats at least one of everything. Clem insists she goes home. Seeder protests at first but eventually leaves, closing the door softly behind her. Clem stands in the entryway, staring into her empty house, at the unfinished bowl of fruit. Somewhere in one of the other houses, someone laughs. It feels audacious to her. How could anyone be happy right now when she's alone in this house?
As she climbs the stairs to her bedroom, her eyes land on something she hadn't noticed before. She hisses and rushes to the picture frame hanging at the top of the staircase. It's a still of her in the arena, slicing Makari's throat open. She screams, rips it from the wall, and heaves it down the stairs. Before she knows what she's doing, she's on her knees, gasping for breath. The door opens, and hands are on her shoulders. She tries to strike them away, but they guide her to her bedroom. Through the tears in her eyes, she can just make out Seeder's face, watching her with pity. Clem hates pity.
Once she's calmed down, Chaff lies beside her, stroking her hair and humming a soft tune. She feels like a baby. A stupid baby who can't handle her emotions. She's almost a grown woman, a victor, and she should act with more class than this. But as Chaff soothes her, she doesn't sense any judgment from him or the others. They're better than her because she knows she'd probably judge someone acting like this.
Eventually, she pretends to be asleep so that Chaff can get back to his own home and stop wasting his time with her. He stays longer than she expects, finally tiptoeing out of the room when he's sure she's asleep. His deep voice drifts up the stairs from the entryway.
"She's finally asleep."
"We got a rough road ahead, Chaff. Keepin' that girl sane."
"She stirred trouble in the riots last year; she's bound to be on Snow's shitlist. There's no way he doesn't know."
Silence falls between them, until Seeder breaks it.
"I'll stay up tonight. She's bound to have nightmares. Get on to bed, and you can take the shift tomorrow night."
The door opens and closes, leaving only the sound of crickets filling the air. Clem closes her curtains and turns on the light. Drawing her knees to her chest, she stares at the foot of her bed, waiting for the sun to rise.
Clem knocks softly on the apothecary's front door with her knuckles. Florina answers within a minute, dressed in overalls and a baggy top.
"Clem!"
Florina envelops her in a hug. Clem allows herself to linger in her friend's embrace longer than she probably should. When Florina pulls away, she feels a pang of disappointment.
As they step inside, Florina hands her a hand fan.
"Are you settled into the Victors' Village yet? Grandpa mentioned he hasn't had a chance to visit you. His place is the first house on the right past the gate."
"The victors threw me a picnic, but Tiller hasn't come around yet. He doesn't need to go out of his way, though."
Florina laughs. "I wouldn't say it's out of the way."
Clem is led into the storerooms, the same ones where she and her friends sat before the card was read six months ago. She watches Florina work, sorting through supplies and checking off a piece of paper. For the first time since her name was called at the reaping, a sense of calm washes over her, if only fleeting. She'll have plenty of time to worry about the future. For now, she's going to bask in the presence of those around her.
"Will you come with me to sit with Pa tomorrow?"
Florina looks up at Clem with her big, brown eyes and gives a small nod and smile.