Smoke still rose from the Capitol as Madge's train pulled in. Pillars of grey against the snow-streaked skies. She felt like a salmon swimming upstream, trying to get into a city against the flow of a thousand refugees. Jostled at every turn. Narrowed eyes that glared down her bloodstained dress. It'd taken forever before she finally reached the Capitol's outskirts. High-rise office towers and apartment blocks. Colder than the fog behind her breath. Harsher than the steel cage she'd left in flames. Everywhere she turned was another wall, another building with locked doors and ash-stained houses; shaking faces peering from within.
Armed with a map stolen from a dead soldier, Madge tottered down the streets in search of the address on her father's name. The city was nothing like Capitol propaganda films she'd seen at school. Craters lined every corner and flaming vehicle wrecks filled her nostrils with smoke. Each mile she travelled added another scream to her scant memories. A wail. A loved one found shot. Dead housepets left to starve in the gutters. She gripped the map to the verge of tearing and persisted. Stopping only when a larger-than-life poster glared upon her at a deserted bus stop.
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE. THE MOCKINGJAY - KATNISS EVERDEEN.
The breath caught in her throat.
Braided black hair. Eyes. Grey like hers. She absentmindedly traced the outline of her own chapped lips. Touched the flimsy plywood hoarding and imagined the girl in the picture touching her back. This is real, isn't it? This Katniss girl, from my District - some kind of criminal. A candle lit her soul, flckering in the breeze of a memory. Madge shut her eyes and drifted along this breeze. A feather in the wind. Trying to find the same pair of eyes on the other side of the shore.
Darkness rushed underfoot and she opened her eyes. Heartbeat hammering in her chest. Mr Pain stood grinning a foot away. Katniss's gentle gaze now appeared like a menacing scowl and she noticed the graffiti scrawled on her shoulder in bright red spray paint.
MOCKINGBITCH.
Madge flinched away and hurried down the suburban housing street. Snowfall stopped but her shivering hadn't. The sun hung low behind rainclouds by the time Madge found the address within a meandering maze of suburban streets. Just off the intersection shoulder beside a bombed-out cafe and a clothing shop. Bare mannequins lying amidst strewn, shattered glass like soulless corpses. She checked the address again: 172 Veranda St. There it was: boarded up windows and slate-grey door with peeling paint. Two-storey red brick townhouse. According to the documents - her father was born here. Lived and breathed in this very building until their family fell on Snow's wrong side from political dissent. A life in exile ensued. District 12. A mayor's burden. A daughter's name in the reaping bowl. Another Capitolite family had simply moved in without thought.
Now it was hers. Or at least she had the means to prove it was. The doors were still locked and sporadic passersby stared at her like she came from another planet. Well, you're District - you do come from another planet. A hollow voice called from within its boarded windows. The ghost of her father, perhaps. Cursed by the corruption of Snow's justice system and doomed to haunt this house until Madge set things right. A stillness touched her spirit. She would get things right. Madge resisted the urge to break into the house and resolved to reclaim her father's legacy.
Months in sunny, tropical District 4 had ill-prepared Madge for the Capitol's biting winter. She hid under a bridge for the night, eating looted rations and curling herself deeper into a ditch when Morphling addicts suddenly showed up and started a bonfire in a trash can. She shallowed out her breathing. Eyes glimmering with fear and flickering flames as she listened, out of sight - of how much morphling they've stolen from vacating soldiers. Amidst the crackling flames she caught glimpses of their bony limbs. Yellowed faces and missing teeth. I might end up like them - living under a bridge and eating scraps if this doesn't work out. Slurred words and garbled laughter faded into silence as the morphling dosages took root in their veins. She waited an hour before venturing into the bonfire's glow. Enduring the rank stench of gasoline and burning rubber just for warmth. It hadn't even come close to easing the stiffness in her legs. Utter, languid exhaustion overwhelmed Madge and she fell into a slumber. The last words that echoed through her ears an incoherent jibe from one of the addicts.
"Looks like that Mockingbitch finally did it eh?"
She hadn't the foggiest idea what Katniss Everdeen did. Or what was so final about it. Only knowing there was a part of her soul that simply wanted to know her. The girl with the bow and wings and eyes that looked at her no matter where she went.
Madge woke at first light and set about completing the rest of her plan. The sudden deluge of warfare still hadn't broken Capitolite sleeping habits, and the streets were still deserted. Empty houses confronted her at each turn. She ran and searched. Feet clacking down the concrete pavement. Until her watery eyes came across a house with dust clinging to a windchime. A further peek into the kitchen revealed moss on the countertop and cobwebs in the ceiling. Madge promptly stepped back and hurled a rock through the glass. Pushing back her memory of crawling through broken windows.
Their water mains were busted. Too bad. Still - cabinets and wardrobes provided an overwhelming array of clothes; dazzling even for a privileged Mayor's daughter. She tried on the most muted, slim-fitting dress she could find and dabbed some perfume. Completing the outfit with a wide-brimmed hat and black-leather purse. Satisfied that she looked like any other Capitolite woman on business, Madge stepped out onto the street and made her way to the bank. The simmering unease from yesterday faded away when she observed fewer people glaring at her than usual. Only the occasional glance from a man, and surely that cheeky grin from a boy wasn't anything unfriendly.
To her surprise, the Bakeries and Delis and Cafes were still shuttered but the Bank was open. Dust and debris coated the once-plush maroon carpets. A queue had already formed; elderly Capitolites arguing with the only teller about withdrawing their life savings. Madge steeled her wits and lied to the receptionist that she had a meeting with Mr. Argent.
"The bank manager?"
"Yes," Madge stood straighter, forcibly shedding the last of her District accent, "I called from the train station a couple of days ago but wasn't sure if the message got passed on-"
Her nerves prickled when the receptionist, looking barely older than herself, escorted her to an office room to wait for Argent to arrive for work. Something about the wrecked streets making traffic impossible.
Madge's mind closed in on itself when the door clicked shut. Mahogany table. Velvet armchair. Cabinets and typewriters gilded in gaudy ostentatious gold. Her eyes flew to the nearest window - a two storey jump. So far removed from the last office she was in and yet bearing the same ominous sense of dread. Heavy, liquid dread that trickled through her veins. She forced herself into the armchair. Stopped wringing out her hands from the cold. And waited in the clock's ominous ticking for Argent to show up.
She tensed hard when the door flung open. Resisted from flinching at the man entering. Suit and tie. Dark rimmed glasses. Taller than her. Her hands shook when she took his namecard - Argent Fabius.
It's fine. He sat across her, eyes looking disinterested as he flipped through her documents. He won't harm you.
"Interesting, interesting," Argent hummed, "why don't you tell me what you think happened?"
Madge visibly swallowed. Adjusted her hat.
"My father's family used to own property in the Capitol - copies of their title deeds and identification are on the second page. Twenty years ago - his family moved to District 12 indefinitely and there has never been a transfer of ownership since they've never sold it-"
"Usually in these cases," Argent interrupted with a wave of a hand, "it defaults to whoever's staying there. Five years and the ownership gets transferred - it's called the adverse possession law."
"Yes Sir," Madge cleared her throat, "but in this case the family that'd lived in the house are now dead. I've inserted their death certificates on page five."
Argent looked up, "How did you find out who lived there?"
"They'd been paying their utility bills until the war broke out," Madge met his eyes, "their names were on the casualty lists."
Argent took off his glasses, and sucked in a deep breath, "Ms Undersee - what exactly do you want from us?"
A stammer crept into her voice - but she kept it steady. Months of bargaining with Colton had hardened her wits.
"My parents passed away a year ago," Madge's hands started to shake, "I have no surviving kin. As the last of the Undersees, I'd like to take possession of my father's family home. One he would've undoubtedly bequeathed to me if he hadn't left the Capitol in such unfortunate circumstances."
"I can't just…give you someone's property."
Madge bit the inside of her cheek, "It's not just someone's property. It belonged to my father's family. Legally. And now it belongs to me. I'm just here for the paperwork."
"Do you know, exactly what-" Argent flipped through her documents, "why the late Mr Undersee left the Capitol?"
She shuffled in her seat and produced a three-page summary judgement from the courts. Her mouth went dry at the words on top. Guilty. Pages burned like wildfire in her hands.
"My grandfather was a dissident," Madge handed her the judgement, "he was exiled under speech laws-"
"What exactly did he say?"
"The newspaper reports are on the last page," Madge pointed, "when Avoxes were first used - he pushed for better labour legislation and that must've ticked Snow off."
Madge pointed at the microfilm scan. She'd pored over the words in the dank, cold train storage cabin. Beneath the moonlight's glow. Rehearsed this moment a dozen times and could never get the words right. But as her finger touched the surname - Undersee. A thread linking to her past spilled the words on her behalf.
"I'm assuming the regime has changed - Snow is set to be executed tomorrow," Madge flattened her palm on the documents, "and once his body falls, the old ways will fall with it."
Argent put his glasses back on and huffed a sigh, "That much, I am aware of."
"You have a choice," Madge's voice grave, "to stick with the old ways - or help a girl preserve her father's legacy. A legacy denied by a tyrant."
"It doesn't work this way," Argent stood up, "I still have rules to follow. Laws. These don't just disappear overnight because someone else is in charge."
"Then-"
Words teetered off her tongue as the banker swept from the room. She curled her fingers into the mahogany and felt tears sting behind her eyes. It wasn't enough. All her careful planning and rehearsing and enduring Colton's indignity still hadn't been enough. Madge clenched and unclenched her fists. Thudding footsteps down the hallway echoed the pounding in her heart. A Peacekeeper slammed the door open. Her throat closed. She bolted from the chair and jerked towards the window.
"Ms Undersee."
Madge's eyes shot wide open at the object he snapped from his belt. Her fists spasmed. Argent strode in, hands outstretched - but before either of them could utter another word. The Peacekeeper closed the gap and yanked her hand free.
The scanner beeped. Margaret Penworth Undersee.
She ripped her hand from his grasp.
"Alright," Argent shrugged, gathering her documents into a stack, "if you are who you say you are."
Her chest rose and fell in sputtery breaths. Eyes still locked on the Peacekeeper marching out. Madge stuck to the windowsill, shaking like a deer in the headlights - frozen stiff until Argent held out a set of keys to her. And a property deed with her surname on it.
She took the keys from his hand. Cold metal clicked another puzzle piece into place. His voice floated behind the cloud of her own tears.
"There're more of you people coming, aren't there?" Argent sighed, "People from the districts. Thinking they can take a piece of our land for themselves."
Beneath the simmering contempt of his voice Madge felt the urge to lash out at him. What have you done? Sit in an office while I rotted in a prison camp? But she stilled her tongue and addressed him in as prim and proper of a voice a woman of her caliber would speak with.
"Mr Argent - District folk have lives and families as precious as the ones you have," Madge fiddled with the keys, "it wouldn't benefit us if we harmed the Capitol's way of life."
She paused, and thought about her father's faceless name. How much she wished she could've remembered his voice. Told him she'd finally taken back what belonged to him.
"In the same way it wouldn't benefit you if you harmed theirs."
It'd taken Madge nearly an hour to pry off the boarded windows with a hammer. Sunlight draped the doorway. She stood amidst a dance of dustmotes and swirling scent of moldering floorboards. Beyond her vision laid darkness. A future she couldn't see, yet one she could still reach out and touch. A future for her taking, if she dared.
The good thing about Madge - she endured her fair share of daring lately.
Methodically, she combed every square inch of the house. Pulling open curtains and switching on the lights. Every piece of furniture was coated in a snowfall of dust and her shoes made ghastly thudding noises on the hollow floors. The cupboards were stripped bare and emptied. Kitchen left with fixtures hanging onto hinges. It must've been looted repeatedly to end in this state. And now Madge was its final burglar. Upstairs - a single room with a threadbare mattress. Stench of urine mixed with white liqour. She threw open the windows and paused at the wedge of sunlight falling across the antiquated furniture. How a little light made the muted colours come alive.
A draft whistled through the house with frigid air. She ran downstairs to shut the door. At the sudden boom of the door closing - felt a violent shudder jolt through her spine. Madge turned and stared at the empty house. Silence gripped her soul. All of a sudden, she wanted the wind back. The whisper of the sea breeze. Crashing waves. Salty air on the tip of her tongue. As her eyes fluttered shut - she heard girls' voices. Rose's lullabies as she rocked Xavier's squeals to slumber. The rampant obscenities on Bev's tongue that made her blush. Cassia's rolling laughter like a candle in her soul. All gone and replaced by silence.
An ache gripped her chest. She wandered further into the empty house and felt its vacantness follow each footstep. You'd be alone now. More lights flicked on. She pressed her foot into a loose floorboard just to hear it creak. Walked over to a drape of white fabric and yanked it off to reveal a piano. Whitened with dust and cobwebs.
Alone in the entire world. The last of the Undersees. She traced her name in the dust. M-A-D-G-E. Afraid she'd forget it again if she didn't write it down.
In the crushing silence, she thought of her former jail cell. The warmth. The swearing. Calloused fingers passing bits of bread. It had felt more like home than this empty shell. She had felt so smug on the walk back - having obtained this house for free. Not knowing exactly what it cost her. Shaky fingers tested each piano key. Silence sprang to life with each note. Madge sucked in a breath and played. The melody flowed through her fingertips like trickling waters from a brook she knew in a past life. And as she picked up the rhythm - felt the severed strands of her memory connect within her soul. If she couldn't remember anything, ever again - at least she had this song. A song she could light her shell of a house with. Hoping it'll lead her back home.
Madge played and played in the dank air. Tears spotted the dusty keys. And when the music finally stopped. There she sat. Madge Undersee. Owner of a nondescript two-storey townhouse in Capitol Suburbia. Staring at gleaming, sparkly ivory piano keys. All wiped clean; the only companion she had in this lonely, new world.