12

Home Sweet Home

I spent the entire morning pacing about the train, crossing from the bar car to the dining ccar, to the rooms, and so on. Mags, Tristan, and Garcia all ordered lemonades and sat on the couch, watching me with amusement. I didn't find it funny, not at all. It felt like I'd been away from home forever, that when I returned everyone should be grown up or even dead and buried. It didn't feel right that I'd be going home and everyone and everything would look the same. I didn't even like looking in the mirror anymore because I was always expecting to see someone different staring back at me, but it always was the same teenage boy with messy bronze hair and green eyes. What was I expecting? To be older? Maybe just different.

What should I expect back at home? I'm sure they will cheer, we always cheer whenever a kid comes home from the games to our district. But what about my friends? Would they treat me the same or would they be intimidated? My mother and father, what would they think? Marina's friends and family, what would they say to me when I delivered her letters? It was all too much to think about, Mags told me that I should just try not to worry until I get there because there's no way to know what to expect. But I couldn't stop, thoughts were spinning in my head until we crossed the border gate for my district. I rushed to the window and glued my forehead to the glass, watching as the familiar palm trees and grass huts raced by. My heart was swelling; I'd missed this so much. Finally the shore came into view and the sight of the sand and ocean overwhelmed me. I wanted to start running and jumping and shouting, but I had to stay put and soak in the image through the window. What I wouldn't give to leap out of this moving train and into that water.

We began to come to a halt, and I stood up on shaky legs. Mags gave me and encouraging smile and told me I should get changed. I nodded and went to my room, putting on the light, white tunic and pants they laid out for me. When I saw my reflection this time, I really looked like my old self, as if I'd never gone to the arena. I wish I could believe it.

I met up with the mentors outside the door, trying not to look nervous. Garcia was right behind us, fussing with her crazy hair and time schedule. Tristan propped his hand up on his hip and pretended to look at a watch, assuming Garcia's feminine twitchiness. When she noticed him mocking her, he got a sound whack on the head with her clipboard. We all laughed-except for Garcia of course-which I appreciated. I was so nervous the laughs sounded like nervous spasms.

We stopped completely and Mags reached out, squeezing my hand with her soft, bony one. I looked at her and she tapped her lips, reminding me to smile. I guess my attempt was funny because it made her laugh.

The doors slid open and at first the light was completely blinding, and then the cheering exploded and was completely deafening. So for a good five seconds I stood there shaking my head, trying to get my senses back. And then when my sight came back, I was besieged was just how many people stood in front of me. The entirety of District Four must be there, cheering and clapping and waving. I scanned the crowd and found some of my friends, trying to scream over the deafening roar. I waved to them and then found my parents; my mother in tears clutching my father's hand, who was beaming up at the me. I couldn't help but feel pumped, everyone was happy to see me! All my friends, my family, everyone here was cheering for me, because I came home.

After a few minutes of waving and grinning ear to ear, the peacekeepers let me down off the platform and into the crowd. For once in my life I was glad that the peacekeepers were there to help part the crowd to the ones I loved. My mother came crashing through the swarm and pulled me into her. I wrapped my arms around her without hesitation, absorbing the smell of her hair and the warmth of her skin-a thing a thought I'd never experience again. She was sobbing unintelligible things into the back of my head. My father came up behind me, so that when I managed to untangle myself from my mom, he swept me up into one of his rare but enthusiastic hugs. I embraced him quickly and then allowed my mom to link on to my arm. My aunts and uncles all filed up with my cousins, congratulating me and slapping my back.

Then my closest friends, Crest, Brye, Dawn, and Martin all gathered around with smiles just for me. Crest and Dawn both seemed a little more withdrawn then they used to, but Brye and Martin couldn't' stop telling me how much of a man I was. I gave them each a quick hug and then kissed the girls on the cheek. They weren't put off by my murderous rampage, at least.

"We're really glad you're home, Finnick," Dawn said in a bashful voice. What was up with these two?

Oh yeah, I'm desirable now or something.

The crowd of well wishers seemed endless, but after an hour it seemed to be thinning out. My father took my mother home to pack the rest of their things while a few peacekeepers waited to escort me to my new house in Victor's Village. I turned around, smiling and waving at a few village people I'd only ever known in passing. They seemed pretty happy to see me too. The last of the crowd were walking away, clearing out like mist in the morning. And just as I thought they'd all gone, I turned to find Annie Cresta, standing a few feet away from me.

"Annie," I exclaimed with surprise. I don't know what I was going to say, I suppose she merited a greeting after giving me my token and seeing me off and everything. It was nice to see her face, though in my dreams I imagined her more like her sister. Here in front of me she was pretty, sure, but she seemed younger than I was expecting. I flashed her my most charming smile, because from what I was understanding that was the best greeting I could give people here.

She folded her arms over her chest and curtly said, "You suck."

Well, that stung.

She spun on her heels and strutted away with her chin held up. I stood there gaping for a few seconds before a peacekeeper poked my shoulder.

"Are you ready to go now, Mr. Odair?" He didn't really sound like he was asking.

"Sure," I said, shrugging off what just happened. It wasn't until we started walking that I noticed myself gripping the white string of shells in my hand. I shoved them in my pocket and looked around, wondering if anyone noticed.

"This way," the man grunted, leading me to a car. We picked up my parents and their things from my old house and drove off to the new village. In the worst way I wish I didn't have to move. My mother squeezed my hand reassuringly, "We will always visit. We're not far, anyway."

Ever since I was a child, I'd always gawked at the splendor of the mansions in Victor's Village; so tall and magnificent with their white and seafoam plaster walls imbedded with shells, their gold trim, even the grand windows that seemed to shine more luxuriously in the sun than those in the regular villages. And now here I was, shopping for a home. It didn't feel real.

In the end I let my father and mother choose their favorite. It had a balcony outside that overlooked the ocean and had two large windows on the front, one on each side of the grand, ivory door. It had shells lining the gold border and a beautiful garden. Tristan was a couple houses down, Mags was across from him, and a few other victors filled in the gaps. We had eleven living victors in this lot, though few seldom came out if they didn't have to. One named Sheldon and his squeaky wife Fifi brought us a pie to welcome us to the village. I couldn't help but laugh at the gesture and got a knowing wink in return.

We ate dinner in almost complete silence, though I couldn't stop my mother from staring at me as if she was afraid I'd disappear.

"I'm right here mom, I'm not going anywhere."

She blushed and smoothed out her dress, trying focus on various points in the room beside my face, but she didn't last long. My father seemed to be perfectly at ease, eating his salad and drinking his wine as if everything was normal. I wasn't sure which one I preferred over the other.

Unfortunately having my parents under the same roof didn't ward off the nightmares. That night it started out with Celeste tying me down to my bed on the train, blood still coating her body. I couldn't move or talk or do anything to defend myself when she raised her knife and ran it through my stomach. But then I was beside the bed, holding the knife, and Celeste was the one drying in front of me. Her blood was on my hands.

After that I took turns murdering and being murdered by all six of my victims; Brutus, the boy from seven, the boy from six, Goren, Carson, and Celeste. Marina would stand in the corner, completely emaciated, and just watch. I woke up somewhere between getting swallowed up by lava and having my head ripped off.

Only a dream, Fin. Only a dream.

How was I supposed to feel safe, like I was at home, when the only home I knew was in a completely different village? Maybe this mattress was stuffed with feathers and maybe the sheets were made of the finest silk, but it didn't matter. All I wanted was my scratchy grass matt under the window.

I couldn't sleep again after that, and the sun hadn't yet risen. I climbed out onto the balcony and shimmied down the smooth trunk of a palm, only daring to breathe when my feet were firmly on the ground. The air smelled like salt and the birds were all still asleep. I stalked out of the village and into my old one, avoiding the peacekeepers the best I could. They were heavier around the poorer sections, but most were asleep. I don't really think they cared much about what happened at four in the morning. I walked out to the docks where the tiny wooden boat was docked, tethered to the shore by a dinky old rope. It was as good a bed as any, so I paddled it out to sea a ways, dropped the anchor, and let myself fall asleep. Out in the open air, away from the walls and unfamiliarity, the dreams were not nearly as vivid or gory. I did a lot of running. But that was an improvement over the killing.

A few days went by that I stayed in the house, talking out the games with my parents and answering their various questions not about my emotional ties to the games but the physical. They gawked over my trident and told me what had been said about how it was the most expensive thing ever to make it into the arena, etcetera etcetera. Every night I would creep out to the boat to sleep and sneak back in through the windows. My parents weren't the kind to check up on me if I were sleeping in late, so I didn't have to worry about that.

After three days I decided to deliver Marina's letters. I dressed myself in a tunic and shorts and walked barefoot-like I used to-to the little addresses scripted on each note. Luckily enough for me her family wasn't too far from where I used to live. I manned up and prepared to face her parents.

I knocked on their door and almost ran away when they didn't immediately answer. But a tall, thin woman with tanned skin and a weathered expression opened the door. She had the same long neck and short wavy blonde hair Marina did. She looked confused to see me, and then maybe a little heartbroken. I folded and unfolded my hands, then just awkwardly held out the note.

"Marina wrote some letters before we left for the arena," I explained, when she took it slowly, "she asked that I deliver them...if I won."

The woman appraised me with sad gray eyes for a moment then nodded. Who I could only assume was Marine's father appeared like a shadow in the doorway, placing a big hand on her shoulder. His blue eyes flashed at me and seemed to understand without speaking. I wanted to leave with my tail between my legs, but I forced myself to speak.

"If there's ever anything I can do...anything at all...don't hesitate to ask."

I left then, not waiting to be dismissed. They closed the door and it was none of my business as to what they read or wept over.

I delivered two to who I could only assume were friends because they had different last names. One to her older sister in the neighboring village, and then one to her brother who worked on a large fishing vessel. I had to leave that one with a peacekeeper to give him because he was out on the sea. The most frustrating part of the trip was that everywhere I turned, I was being congratulated. I knew they meant well, but it didn't make me feel any less slimy and sick. I looked at the last note, Ammon, who I really didn't want to go see. For all I knew he would kill me.

Not like I didn't deserve it.

His house was easy to find, it was sturdy and green with circular windows. A young man opened the door with bronze skin and ashy hair. I could see a little bit of Mags in him, mostly in the eyes. He looked surprised and then perplexed by the sight of me. It wasn't in a 'how dare he' sort of way I was expecting, more like a 'why would he?'

"Marina asked me to give you this," I said, holding out the note. He took it hesitantly, stared at it, and then rubbed the letters with his fingers, like he was trying to feel her through the ink.

"Thank you," he said in a rich voice. I nodded and started to leave, when he called out again, "Not just for the note." I turned and looked at him. He seemed sort of shy and a little embarrassed, but sincere, "Just thought it should be said. Thank you."

He retreated into the house after that, leaving me to sort it all out for myself.

Thank you for being a friend to Marina, not for killing her. You know that.

"Congratulations, Finnick," called a group of kids who used to go to my school. They were across the street in a clump, going off to do something fun and impromptu that I probably wasn't allowed to do anymore.

"Thanks," I mumbled, ducking my head and letting my feet walk where they may. I only stopped when they walked me right into the water.

I snapped my head up and looked around. The sun was setting and I was on a little beach covered in shells. I wasn't alone, either.

Annie Cresta was sitting on the sand with her feet stretched out so that the water would lap over her toes with the surge of the waves. Her dark hair was brushed out and she seemed transfixed on something I couldn't see.

"Do I still suck?" I asked, not sure if my tone was light or serious. What did I know anymore, anyway? I took a seat next to her and let my toes get wet. It was rather soothing in a way.

"What you did in the arena," she began, not taking her eyes off the horizon, "wasn't right. Not your fault...but still, not right."

I looked out at the sea and took that in. Why was hearing that such a relief instead of offensive?

"Tell me more."

She obliged, "The way you would trap those people was terrible, because they knew they were going to die before they did. And you killed so many people in one day, it was mind numbing. You could have stopped Celeste from torturing that boy from Twelve, and you could have used the influence of your sponsors to save Marina. And the way you play the Capitol with your looks...it's despicable."

Everything she said was accompanied with a whoosh of liberation for me. It was odd, and yet it felt wonderful. Finally someone saw me for the monster that I am and not applauding me. She turned her face and fixed her eyes on mine.

"But Fin, none of it was your fault. What you did wasn't okay, but what happened to you wasn't okay. Someone had to win..." she faced out to the water again, "I'm glad it was you."

I found myself laughing, actually laughing. She snapped her face back to me and scowled, "What's so funny?"

I sighed and grinned at her openly, "It's just...you're the first one who didn't congratulate me. It feels nice."

Something in her eyes looked sad and she dropped her gaze, "I don't think that's what you want anyway, to be praised. I'm sorry for you. I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you. I'm sorry you had to kill those people and I'm sorry they tried to kill you. I'm sorry we all had to watch and I'm sorry you lost Marina...I'm just...really sorry. But to congratulate you? Never. I'm just happy you're alive."

I wanted to reach out and hug her and tell her how much I appreciated her words, but that wasn't our relationship. Annie was the annoying girl who was nice to everyone and always tried to be my friend. I barely knew her, only saw her in passing at school and when our paths would meet on the beach. She was only twelve; she hadn't even hit puberty yet. No, I think the best thing I could do here was just not to smile one of my smiles I give to the people in the Capitol. I planned to leave, but then remembered the shells still tied around my wrist.

"Oh...here."

I pulled them off and held it out for her. She looked at them and shook her head.

"Keep them."

I nodded and put them in my pocket, leaving her to her peace. I was damage wherever I stepped, no sense defiling the Cresta's beach with my misery anyway. I found myself walking back to my old house and sitting down in the middle of it, surrounded by its empty but familiar walls. This was home, but of someone I didn't know anymore. A boy who never had a nightmare in his life. Now it seemed, even at home, I was living one. And yet...somewhere here I felt something. A stirring, I guess you could call it. A broken piece of myself that was patching back together. Maybe with time, the salt water and sun would heal me.

Why not?