CHAPTER 3 – GHOST / MEMORIAM
Tackle Auger
Steam billows out of the shower as I open the door, leaving a hazy sheen on my slick grey marble walls. I can see my reflection from all angles, a gaunt soldier. A different person stares back than the person who won the Games. I was strong then, still lean, but covered with ropy muscle.
Loaded running was my forte- dogsleds on the beach, carrying up to seven people. It was a spectacle, a seventeen year old kid pulling his trainers along the shore. It brought me confidence, made me feel good about myself, up until the point I got enough media attention that members of the Capitol saw the show, as well as D4...
They wanted to see more of me. I was chosen as volunteer that year, a year prior to expectations.
The day of the Reaping was my seventeenth birthday. Which makes tomorrow... I tick off the year on my fingers... my twenty-second. I shouldn't have had to think about that. My brain's moving too slowly.
I drank a smoothie following the protein shake, all my food groups are in, what else does my body want? Sleep. Peace. All I've ever wanted. But I can't stop thinking someone's going to find out what I've done. On every face, I look for suspicion. Or derision.
Riel's last words play on my mind. After the shock of his death and use of my old nickname passed, a weight solidified in my gut, so heavy that at any moment I might prolapse. Turn completely inside out.
I want to thank you for the movies. My friends and I have enjoyed them for years.
I don't ever think about it. I don't ever want to think about it. But as far as I've ever known, my abuse at Riel's hands was our secret. He always told me it was. I don't know anything about movies. I don't know anything about his friends.
My smoothie threatens to come back up. I lean over the sink and spit, back rippling with a wave of nausea. Questions bombard my mind. I wish I could run to black them out, but I have a dinner to attend.
Do other people know what Riel did to me? Who are they? Trainers? Victors?
Did they… see? Did he record us?
Keeps my memories fresh.
I vomit into the sink.
Killing him was supposed to end this nightmare, but it's become so much worse. Would it have been better if the truth died with him? I'm jarred, discombobulated. I don't even know what I don't know. Riel could have been taunting me... But, what if he wasn't?
Despite my lightheadedness, I straighten up and examine my reflection. I don't know who stares back. He's thin, pallid. His eyes are sunken and dull. Even the shape of his temples is visible. This isn't the face of a victor. My collarbones protrude from my flesh, and when I turn and look at my back, I see my scapulas equally as prominent.
This is how I looked before Capitol attendants took me to the hospital after Rhea's victory, in the 49th year. All eyes were on District 11, so they inconspicuously hid me away. The Capitol wouldn't let me leave until I reached a healthier weight. The months I spent in treatment felt more like prison- bodily and chemical restrains, lack of privacy, the sound of screaming and crying all day and all night...
I can't go back there.
I was forbidden to speak about the matter. Upon returning home to D4, I was celebrated for completing a "special assignment." False glory, of course, they couldn't have a victor looking weak. Sometimes I think Aelia guessed the truth. But she's never confronted me about it. I think it's partly why I like her so much.
I put myself together, lotions and powders on my face, hair slicked back, and a suit with subtle padding. I don't re-bandage the wound on my scalp. It's not that visible. I couldn't care less if it gets infected. The Capitol Beauty Centre will fix me up, no doubt. We'll be there within a few days.
Mali's face appears in my head, ferocious, then joyful, then calculating. My little sis, the other orphan. Tears spring into my eyes. She's so smart, so resourceful, but anything can happen in the arena. No matter how promising a tribute is, there's always a greater chance of them not returning. I think if she died, it would feel like my heart ripping out of my chest.
I stare at myself hard in the bathroom mirror, willing composure.
I am the leader of the academy. I am a victor. I am powerful. If anyone has seen videos of Riel hurting me, I'll kill them without a second thought.
It's time to go.
I exit my mansion, then walk down the street to Talia Burnside's mansion. At sixty-eight years old, Talia is our eldest and most respected victor. She's the Second Victor of the Hunger Games, claiming the victory the year after Red Pearl of D1. I enjoy spending time with her, but I fear she sees right through me. I don't visit often. The other victors are alright- save Jig. Dick. I'm the youngest of them, and for the most part, they treat me like their little brother. They're kind. But I don't let them too close.
I take a deep breath, then knock on Talia's door. One of her grandchildren, Erik, opens it.
"Hello young sir." I say, smiling at the kid.
Erik's shy expression drops away. He runs with open arms, then wraps them tight around my waist. "Hi Tackle." He says into my dinner coat. "I can wrap my arms all the way around you."
"How are you?" I ask, sighing, patting his head.
"Good! Grandma says I can hang around until dinner, isn't that exciting?" Erik says, releasing me.
"Most definitely. Where is everyone?" I say.
"In the cocktail room. Follow me." Erik replies, turning on his heel.
We arrive in an elegant, softly lit room. It's one of my favourite rooms in Talia's home, something about the ambiance is comforting. It feels more like a library than a bar.
Talia, Shasta, Bolt, and Shawen are gathered around a poker table. I wave and call hello. They wave back.
"Tackle!" Aelia calls from the bar. I walk over to the group. Aelia hugs me. I don't like the way her hands linger on my bones, I don't want her to worry.
The others shake my hand, I greet them. Before my interruption, Caddis, Felix, and Jig were apparently engaged with Aelia in a conversation about which D4 tribute is more likely to win.
"My money's on Mali." Aelia says definitively. "Strongest tribute in years."
"Careful, now." Jig says. "Don't count Wyatt out. Kid's sneaky. Don't tell me you've already forgotten the final trials, he was undefeated amongst the boys."
"Sneaky? That's not the word I'd use to describe Wyatt. And don't you forget, Mali was undefeated amongst the girls." I chime in. Aelia grins.
"You really think, in a head to head battle, Mali could take Wyatt? He's double her size." Jig retorts.
"Limited thinking." I say. Jig's eyes narrow. "The circumstances of a final battle are entirely unforeseen, and that's the only time they'd be fighting head-to-head. Who knows what will happen before then- their injuries, their health status. There's more to think about than who's bigger than who." I pointedly look down at him. I may be thinner, but I'm still taller.
"So, you're saying Wyatt would have to be sick or injured for Mali to beat him? Doesn't seem like she's superior." Jig says, puffing out his chest.
"Yes, that's exactly what I said. I'm glad the academy employs someone with such superior skills of interpretation." I jest, enjoying poking fun at Jig.
Before Jig can process the insult, Aelia makes another comment. Jig narrows his eyes again. I smile.
"Yeah, we'll see who wins." Jig interrupts something Felix was saying. Felix raises an eyebrow, but Jig continues. "Hard to win with a mentor who can't keep himself on his own two feet." He ribs, touching a nerve. I don't find a modicum of humour in what happened earlier today.
"You're a myopic asshole. They'd be better off if I was mentoring both of them." I say, switching from passive aggression to direct aggression.
"Panem, someone needs to call Lori to reel your ass in. Oh wait, we can't, she left you." Jig slams his drink on the mahogany bar. "Say that shit again."
I ignore the dig about my ex-wife.
"Okay, we get it Jig, calm down." Aelia says.
Jig and I stare each other down, until he breaks eye contact, rolling his eyes and boisterously calling over to Bolt at the poker table. He leaves, presumably to keep harassing Bolt.
"Do you have to be so contentious?" Aelia says. Caddis and Felix pretend they're not listening.
"Only with Jig." I wink at her. "What were you saying, Felix?"
Felix launches back into his analysis of each tribute's strengths and weaknesses. I pay attention. Felix is incredibly observant, and I'm glad for his perspective.
Dinner passes. The conversation veers away from the Hunger Games, this being our last opportunity to blow off steam before the Reaping tomorrow morning. We only speak about the Capitol to comment on the fact our government-assigned phones are banned this year. It's strange; we typically only use them to communicate with other victors, but alas, this year we're going dark.
I pick at my meal. I'm sure it's delicious, but the texture of solid food is unpalatable. I'm too stressed, too on edge. I take bites when I notice Aelia looking at me. I reply when spoken too, but remain quiet, mostly.
I can't help but wonder if any of the older victors have seen the videos.
My skin's crawling by the time dinner's over. I keep my composure, but it's significantly more difficult than at the beginning of the night. If Jig makes the wrong comment to me, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop myself from punching him. He wouldn't hold it against me, though. We enjoy a good scrap.
Unfortunately, I don't get to punch Jig, because he doesn't say anything to me on the way out. I catch him staring, though, which is odd. He's looking at my scalp. Thinking of this morning?
My thoughts return to memories of filth. Ugliness. Pain. I need to leave.
I thank Talia for a beautiful evening. She pats one of my shoulder pads and wishes me luck and good health. The latter half of the comment seems pointed. I say a general goodbye to the other victors. Aelia offers to walk me out.
"Hey you." She glances at me, smiling.
"Hey yourself." I smile back.
"You doing okay?" Her big eyes stare up at me.
"Yeah, of course. What do you mean?" I return her question with a question.
"Well... Riel just died, Mali's going to the Games... I understand if there's lots on your mind... And, Jig told us you fell, while running." Aelia says, exasperated, looking at the laceration poking out of my hairline. She doesn't press me for honesty often, respecting my privacy, but when she does, she expects no bullshit. She can see right through my evasion.
I sigh, and drop my heavy skull. "I don't know, Ae. I don't know if I'm okay. I'm trying to keep it together."
We stop walking at the end of the drive. She touches the padding in my suit. I won't repeat the mistake of wearing it, it clearly draws attention rather than keeping it away. "Are you eating?"
My eyes dart to hers. She isn't usually so direct. "I'm trying... there's just been a lot going on."
"Aren't you worried the Capitol will give you another 'special assignment?'" Aelia asks, concern writ on her features, eyeing my body.
"Panem, Ae." I say. "I wasn't sure you knew about that."
"I have eyes. I care about you." She kicks the ground. "I know you don't like to talk about things. But it makes you sick, Tackle. I just want you to know I'm here for you. I won't ever judge." She sounds serious.
The hairs on my neck stand up, fear of someone getting too close. I don't respond.
"I know you'll be busy monitoring Mali when the Games begin, but I'll be in the D4 apartments- or close by. If you need somebody, you'll come fine me?" Aelia takes me hand.
"I'll will." I say, letting out a deep breath. I squeeze her hand. "Thank you, Aelia."
She kisses me on the cheek and ruffles my hair. "Later, kid." She turns to go. "Oh- wait! I almost forgot."
From her jacket pocket, she produces a small box, and hands it to me. I stare at her in confusion.
"Happy early birthday. I know we don't usually celebrate because of the Reaping, but I saw this and thought of you." Aelia hands me the box.
A grin creeps over my lips. I crack the box. Inside is a small, silver baseball bat pendant attached to a silver chain. I think of the time we spent on the academy rooftop, smashing fruits into oblivion.
"I remember the first time we went up- the first time you smashed an apple." Aelia says. "Your laugh... it was like magic. It was joy. I wish more things made you feel like that..."
I smile at the memory, and strangely, tears fill my eyes. I'm so grateful for Aelia. I swallow hard, and pull her in for a hug.
"Thank you." I say into her soft hair.
Mali Cypress
I wake before dawn, after a night spent tossing and turning, unable to enter the deepest phase of sleep. Anticipation makes my heart pound, my stomach clench. I'm going to the Capitol today, and I may never return. I kick off my sweaty sheets, and dress. I take my usual route to sneak out of the academy, and find myself at the beach. I do not swim, I just sit and stare.
Waves crash, I can feel the reverberations in my chest. The wind sings, the sounds pass through my skull. I look at the water, my greatest friend. Fine grains of sand fall through my fingers as I pick up and release handful after handful.
I think of the fishing boat I grew up on. A great vessel, double masted, triple tiered, almost a hundred feet long. Below deck, there were quarters for maids, cooks, sailors, ship hands, and fishing staff- even a communal room to eat and socialize. There weren't many other kids on the ship, so my friends were the boat staff. I sparred with the sailors, helped the cooks and maids, and if it was a special night, the captain let me stand with her at the wheel.
I look back on the memories with fondness, mostly, but I won't ever forget how exhausting my mother's job was. When she finished work for the day, the skin on her hands was raw and cracked from cleaning fluid, her back and legs and arms ached from the awkward positions she forced her body into. She worked long hours so she'd never have to resort to the type of work some of the other girls on the boat participated in, to supplement their meager salary.
Men on the ship would pay for company, but my mother was fearful of them- hearing stories from the other girls. I always dreamed I'd win the Games and whisk her away to victor's village, and she'd never have to bend her back again. I'd repay her for all the years she sacrificed working dawn til dusk, just to make sure I never went hungry.
My breathing hitches, and tears fall. I miss her so much.
"Mali?"
I hear a voice call my name. I don't turn. Wyatt sits next to me. He's smiling, taking in the sunrise. "Couldn't sleep either?" When he sees my face, his smile drops. "Hey, what's going on?"
I consider brushing him off, but decide to tell the truth. "Just thinking. Did I ever tell you about my mom?" I ask.
"I think we both know the answer to that."
I've never been able to bring myself to talk about my parents with Wyatt. For all our years of friendship, it's remained a mystery to him.
"Do you want to know?"
"Yes." He wraps an arm around my shoulders.
I tell him about the fishing boat, our daily life, my friends. I pause before telling him how it ended.
"One night, when we were sleeping, a gas stove in the kitchen exploded. It had been leaking for a while. The ship caught fire so fast... before it sunk." I shiver. Wyatt holds me tighter. "We were in a bad spot, trapped near the bottom of the ship. The fire spread fast, we couldn't escape. We got separated. I could hear people screaming... I could smell their skin burning...
"My mother smashed a porthole, and shoved me through the window... I fell into the ocean. I didn't have time to think. I didn't have time to say goodbye. When I looked up I could see the flames through the water, and when I surfaced I couldn't hear anything but burning wood. I didn't realize it at the time, but everyone was already dead." I tear my cuticles, and blood blooms are the base of my nails.
"How did you survive?" Wyatt asks, voice shaking.
"I swam to shore. Miles in the darkness." I sigh.
"Panem... I'm sorry, Mali." He wipes his face.
"When word got out about what happened, I was invited to try out for the academy. I guess the rest is history." I swallow hard again, tears still falling. "...I still hear her scream- in my dreams, when I'm scared. I worry I'll hear her in the Games." I wipe my face as well. "You know, as a kid, I'd tell her I'd win the Games for her."
"You still can." He says gravelly.
It hits me like a truck; if I win, he dies. It's common sense, but I was detached from the emotionality of it until now. "I don't want anyone else to die." I cry harder. "You must think I'm pathetic."
"I think that's the only way to be honourable." Wyatt replies. "Wanting to kill is twisted. I think you're honourable for wanting to win without enjoying the process." He shrugs and sighs. "It's our world, it's our way of life. But we don't have to let it bring out the worst in us."
"I don't want you to die." I whisper.
"I might not." Wyatt says heavily. "I don't want you to die, either."
I lean into him. We don't say anything for a while longer, lost in thought, allowing ourselves to feel the moment. Our tears dry.
"What about your father?" Wyatt asks out of the blue. "Was he on the boat?"
The idea makes me scoff. "I don't have a father."
"Technically everyone has a father." He replies.
I roll my eyes. "Never met him. Mom said he left before I was born, went somewhere else in the district. I don't know if he's dead or alive."
Wyatt nods, staring at the ocean, considering. "Tackle's kinda like your dad."
I chuckle. "Please, a big brother, maybe. He can't tell me what to do."
"He certainly can, as leader of the academy." Wyatt says, chuckling himself, easing the tension.
I look at him sidelong, mischievously. "Come on, who do you really think calls the shots around here?"
He laughs in earnest, appraising me. "Tackle. Definitely."
I shove him.
After a beat. "And I'm kinda like your brother, too." He says.
"But like an annoying, little brother." I rib.
"You're two weeks older than me! You ever going to let that go?" He shakes his head.
"Nope." I laugh.
After a beat. "Between you and Tackle, I always felt like I had family." My tone becomes serious again.
"Yeah?"
"Absolutely. You know I love you, right?" I say.
He looks over. "Love you to, Mal."
"As devastating as it is that only one of us makes it back, I'm glad we're going together." I say.
"Wouldn't want it any other way. You and me till the end." I watch his chest fully expand, then let out breath.
"Till the end." I promise. The words are becoming our mantra.
I just wish the end was decades from now, when we'd be old and grey.