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“KATNISS EVERDEEN IN CUSTODY.”
Headlines flood televisions and radio broadcasts all over Panem almost immediately following the destruction of the 75th arena and the rebels’ escape with a few Victors. Snow himself confirms the capture of Katniss Everdeen, Finnick Odair, and Enobaria, and announces that other Victors are being brought into custody within the districts, declaring all Victors as suspected enemies of Panem and that they will be tried as such once they are brought to the Capitol.
Katniss sits on the floor of her cell with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, wondering how much time has passed; she feels like she has been unconscious for days, but for all she knows it may have only been hours since she was plucked out of the arena. Her hair is a mess and she is only given a plain white cotton shirt and pants. She strains to listen to the guards discuss the upcoming televised display of Katniss herself being tried as the first Victor, to make an example of her. She is thankful at least that it wasn’t Peeta and that he will be free to help the rebels. She’s not rebellion material, not really, when it comes down to it. The rebels can use her as a martyr and Peeta will motivate them in ways that she never could.
Even for her, the cell is small and cramped, and she can’t stand to her full height in it. She can only imagine how confined someone like Finnick feels in his cell next to her. The walls between them are cement and cold, but their cells have bars across the front. This is strange to Katniss, as she thinks that this would just enable people to plot and discuss escape.
Her cell does not have a bed or any furnishings in it, nor anywhere for her to go to the bathroom. Guards have brought her bread and water once, at least, and it still sits untouched as she doesn’t know when the next time someone will bring her anything to eat or drink. She gives in, though; looking at the bread only makes her think of Peeta constantly, and having it sit there only makes her chest feel tight. He’s safe. He has to be safe and far away. Whatever uprisings and rebellion are being planned, he will be a better symbol for them. She tries to take her time eating the bread, but ends up quickly devouring the rest and sipping half of the glass of water.
Shortly after that, two Peacekeepers come and drag her from the cell. They take her to a room where she is given a sponge bath and her hair is brushed and braided. There is no make-up applied or thorough scrubbing, no creams or medicines to make her scars disappear or to make her look beautiful, and she is put back in her white shirt and pants. Throughout this she is cooperative; after all, she is about to die and is resigned to this fate. No one can save her, and maybe if she cooperates it will be a quick death.
Part of her feels guilty for thinking this way, and she wonders if her compliance will be viewed as giving in to the Capitol, as weakness, since she knows that whatever happens to her is meant to make the rebels and districts afraid to fight, to discourage them. She also knows that for whatever reason people are inspired by her, and feels obligated (against her will) to give them reason to keep going. She wonders what Peeta would do in this situation, but finds it difficult to imagine; they never talked much about the uprisings aside from a few passing conversations here and there, and that time at the Capitol party when he suggested that maybe they don’t try to discourage the uprisings. She knows that she is expected to encourage the rebellion, but she doesn’t even know how to go about that, what to say or do. She never asked to be an icon for revolution, after all, and when she’s honest with herself, she’s terrible in front of the cameras without Peeta to support her. Now she has only herself.
When she is hauled onto a stage, Katniss is still struggling to decide her last words. She feels used by both sides. Now she is being punished for a war she never meant to start, that she selfishly wants no part of. Already she can picture the long list of lives that will be lost over the course of this rebellion, and she honestly doesn’t know which side she thinks will win.
The lights are bright, but after her irises adjust to the transition, she sees a chair with restraints, a podium several feet away from it, and a long narrow table with various medical instruments, needles, and vials. President Snow stands at the podium and nods to the Peacekeepers who bring Katniss to the chair. She obligingly sits calmly as Peacekeepers strap her in tightly, and lets her gaze settle on the empty rows of seats where the audience usually sits. Not a single seat is occupied, but cameras ring the stage.
A woman with green hair stands behind the camera directly in front of Katniss and counts down from ten, then motions to the President to begin speaking. Katniss only half listens to his introduction to the evening’s schedule of events. In fact, it takes her a few seconds to realize that Snow is addressing her.
Katniss keeps her eyes straight ahead, but responds. “What?”
“I asked, Miss Everdeen, if you plead guilty or not guilty to the crimes listed against you,” President Snow replies.
She exhales slowly as she considers the question. It really doesn’t matter what the supposed crimes are, she decides. Her list of transgressions, both real and imaginary, goes on for miles in her mind: the name of every child who is dead today at the expense of her life; each unfeeling, desperate kiss with Peeta, for using him, regardless of the few that really meant something; all the people in District 12 who were killed or wounded after security increased; even the illegal hunting and trading necessary to her family’s survival makes the list, each animal and herb taken from the Capitol’s woods. She could claim guilt to all of these things, but she can’t admit to aiding rebel causes or encouraging uprisings, which she is sure is what Snow just accused her of. To do so would be a lie, and deep inside, selfish as it might be, she does not want to give anyone the power to use her against her will anymore.
Maybe this is the sort of thing Peeta meant when he said he didn’t want to be a piece in their games. She thinks about that night on the roof where she dismissed his concerns, and about being in that first arena when she buried Rue in flowers and understood him in that moment, and trying to hold onto that slim sliver of identity when she took out the handful of berries. She also thinks about all the unwanted expectations people have of her now, from total strangers like Bonnie and Twill, to people she knows best like Gale who wants her to stand up to the Capitol and join the rebellion herself. She thinks of how something as simple as the gift of a pin became a huge image of revolution.
She can be honest about her anger, and maybe that will be enough. Her heart isn’t into a rebellion. Maybe it’s necessary for things to change and get better, and maybe it will only lead to needless death and more dark days ahead, but she can be true to herself, she thinks. “Are we still being honest with each other, President Snow?”
Snow’s voice shows his open curiosity. “Absolutely, Miss Everdeen. That is, after all, the purpose of this trial, to determine the truth.”
“I’m not going to plead anything, guilty or innocent,” she says.
Katniss can practically hear the smug smile in his voice. “So what is it that you’re saying, Miss Everdeen? Are you saying you aren’t a rebel, or are you saying that you support the Capitol?”
“I’m saying that I’m angry,” she says and narrows her eyes. “I’m angry that you take our children, and keep all the wealth for yourselves-”
Snow gestures to the camera. “In other words, you are jealous and ungrateful for what the Capitol gives you. We give you electricity and food, protection-”
“No, you keep us afraid, and you give us just enough to stay alive so that we can work for you and feed you-”
“And yet, you accept the benefits of your victory. You accept the fine home, and the reward money, and the clothes. You wouldn’t have had to work another day in your life to feed your family,” Snow says.
“Yes, I did accept those things,” Katniss agrees. “I won’t deny that. It’s something I feel guilty about all the time, that I have all this money while everyone else works so hard, and I get to be alive-”
“And this is why you are angry? Because we give and give, and it is still not enough for you?” he says.
“The districts give everything to you and it all goes to people who would watch us kill one another and suffer for their entertainment.”
Snow gestures widely to the camera. “You would have us let the districts go unpunished for their crimes?”
She scowls. “Punished for what? Crimes committed by people seventy-five years ago?” she says and looks out into the empty seats in front of her. What would Peeta say? Would he plead for peace? Would he encourage the districts to stand up to the Capitol? If she’s going to die anyway, she can at least be their voice. That’s what a mockingjay is in the end, isn’t it? Not so much a creature that shouldn’t exist, but a voice that shouldn’t exist.
“The Hunger Games need to stop. I’m sure the fighting would stop when we end the Games and when the wealth is spread so that everyone has enough to live. Judging by the empty seats here, maybe Capitol citizens finally agree. Maybe they can only stomach violence and death through their screens, but not when it’s brought right to their feet for their viewing pleasure. No one is here today to watch me die. That would be too real for them, wouldn’t it?” she says.
Snow smiles slowly. “Oh, dear Miss Everdeen, did you think I brought you here to die today? No, no, not today,” he says and gives a nod to someone off stage.
At that, Katniss turns her head and watches a man in scrubs and a hospital jacket come in, snapping vinyl gloves into place, and looking at her carefully.
“What?” Katniss blurts and at last looks at Snow.
Snow, however, looks to the camera. “If I misled you, it was not my intent, Miss Everdeen. I see that you agree you would cause less problems for me dead, but death is too quick, too final.” His jaw clenches for a moment as his eyes narrow. “Those who are caught and found guilty of aiding the rebels and their cause can have this to look forward to, and they will wish for something so simple as death.”
Her eyes widen as the doctor approaches her and she studies the needle he carries with him. “What are you doing?” she asks and doesn’t notice the quaver in her voice. “I don’t understand- why are you keeping me alive?”
“Because, Miss Everdeen, everyone must see the punishment for inciting rebellion and uprisings,” Snow explains.
Torture. That is why he is keeping her alive. She starts to struggle against the restraints now, but they hold her tight. The doctor pushes back the sleeve of her shirt and swabs a spot in the crook of her elbow. “I don’t think you understand,” she says quickly. “People will look at this and get angry, too, and they’ll fight back. This won’t keep people down- it will make them fight-”
“Perhaps,” he says, “but I have my doubts. The Capitol that loves you and cares for you, that protects you from outside harm and ensures that resources are spread fairly- we do not want to resort to this. It is an alternative to ending life, but I guarantee it is suffering, and painful, and you will not come out as the person you once were.”
Katniss stares at Snow, wide eyed with terror. “What- what do you mean?” she asks softly, no longer concerned about putting on a brave face. She can’t seem to muster up the courage in the face of a large needle about to press into her skin.
“We are going to perform a procedure that will alter your mind,” he explains calmly. “You remember the effects of the tracker jacker venom, don’t you?
Katniss refuses to answer, but she twists to look at the needle as she figures out what it holds.
“I thought as much,” Snow continues. “Our medical teams have devised a method to use their venom to manipulate your self image. To cause real damage it will take time, daily and regular exposure to the venom. For the purposes of this demonstration, we also have a screen behind you, and you will be hooked to a device that allows us to translate your brain’s activity and project it on the screen.” Another doctor comes over and places sticky pads along her head; she tries to shake it to keep them away, but a third person comes over and holds her head straight.
“We will inject you with the venom, and it will bring on the hallucinations you remember, but over time it will twist and change how you see yourself and others. Your beloved sister, for example. Such a sweet, kind girl.” He pauses and faces her. “Should you ever see any of your loved ones again, you will pose a threat to them, and we all know that is unthinkable to you. This is going to be your life now, Miss Everdeen.”
“No! No-” she shouts at the doctor when he finishes cleaning the spot on her arm, unconcerned that her brave face is entirely gone, but the doctor presses the needle into her skin. At first she feels only the sting of the needle, then a searing pain spreads from the spot and she shouts again, this time in agony as the venom begins working its way into her system.
“If you cooperate then you will not be subject to this any further,” Snow says, indicating the doctor with the needle. “This wouldn’t be happening right now if you had done what we told you to do, Miss Everdeen. If the rebels surrender then no one else will have to face this fate. Call for a cease-fire, and this could stop for you, too, with your mind in-tact.”
Katniss grits her teeth and clenches her jaw, shaking her head. “I won’t.”
“You won’t?” Snow asks.
“I won’t- call for a cease fire-” she says.
There is a pause as Snow looks contemplative. “I suppose you wouldn’t do that. You are, after all, their Mockingjay,” he says. “That’s what they’ve been calling you in the propaganda they’ve managed to air on television and radio. They say you are the Mockingjay, and liken you to the creatures that should not exist. Poetic, isn’t it? Quite clever. Surely the Mockingjay knows where the rebels have based themselves, at the very least, and will share that information. You must want to be able to see your sister again, and not be a danger to her.”
She looks up at him, her vision swimming before her. Snow’s face slowly transforms into a fierce snake and she cringes. “I can’t- I don’t- I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? And why is that?” he asks.
She whimpers and squeezes her eyes shut; it’s too hard to focus on his questions. All she knows is that it feels like her blood is boiling in her skin, like millions of tiny bubbles are trying to burst through and pour out of her. “No- no one- told me- anything-”
Snow faces the camera, but slowly steps closer to her. “If this is the truth, then we are to understand that the rebels have not even told their beloved icon where they are hiding. They have stolen her image for their own purposes, but have not let her in on their plans?”
She shrieks and tries to flee away from the approaching image of President Snow evolving into a large snake, slithering toward her, and can’t remember why she’s unable to move. “I- I don’t- know anything-” she gasps and his snake mouth forms a twisted smile.
“I know, Miss Everdeen, and your honesty is appreciated. Fortunately I don’t actually need you for information. This is merely to prove a point,” he says and looks back to the camera. “The rebels know I am aware of their location. You have continued to thrive in peace until now because of the mercy of the Capitol as long as....”
Whatever he says next is lost to her; all Katniss can hear is a stream of hissing. She thrashes as acid rains down and starts eating away at everything around her, including her own flesh, and helplessly stares in horror as the acid rain mingles with the blood seeping out of her pores and bubbling out of the growing open wounds formed by the acid eating away at her skin. She wants to cover the wounds, to hold her blood in, but her hands won’t obey her. An agonized wailing drowns out the sound of the hissing, and Katniss barely realizes the wails are coming from her own throat before she blacks out.
***
Her nightmares go on and on. During the procedures, her eyes are forced to stay open and propped up with a machine as footage of her sister, mother, Peeta, and even Gale and Haymitch are played while she is injected with more tracker jacker venom. She loses all track of time. There are a few lucid moments when she thinks about comforting memories of a pair of strong arms holding her close accompanied by the scent of flour, and a steady thrum of a heartbeat, or the flickering image of a young blonde girl smiling with a shirt that won’t stay tucked in. These images are always fleeting and torn away by beasts with sharp teeth and then she is thrown into darkness.
The cell is always dark, and always cold, and she begins to fear it. There are always screams when it’s dark, coming from the cell next to hers, although she starts to feel unsure if she’s awake or asleep sometimes. Surely if she were awake then she wouldn’t feel things slithering around trying to suffocate her in the pitch dark, and the sounds of endless pain and the sensation of falling apart are only things that nightmares could conjure. Those things should, not exist in the real world. Girl on fire whispers a voice in the back of her mind. Girl on fire, girl on fire, it says as she feels like flames are licking at her body, turning her into a pile of ash being blown in a thousand directions, scattered in the cold darkness.
The guards get sloppy eventually. Words like “bomb strike” and “district thirteen” seep into her thoughts, both waking and sleeping. She is too tired and weak to care about the guards leading her to a room to be washed and dressed to appear on camera. She has no idea how she looks, but her outfit is the same plain white shirt and pants. Snow makes a theatrical display about how out of her mind she is by projecting her thoughts onto the large screen again; she care barely focus on him, and when an image of Prim is displayed to her, she starts sobbing and trying to back away, because Prim is always taken from her and the wolf mutts always come for them right when she gets to see Prim. “Run-” she gasps. “Run, Prim- they’re coming for you- the wolves are coming-”
She reaches her hands up to tangle them in her hair and curls in on herself, muttering silently, and trying to fight off the wolves that spring to mind, trying to keep them away even though they’re clawing forward, clawing their way to Prim. “They’re coming- they’re coming- the wolves are coming-” she pants as she tugs her hair, then feels the scrape of her nails against her scalp. It’s the scratching that leads her to figure it out. Oh god she realizes as she wrenches her hands from her hair and stares down at thin hands that rapidly look more and more like powerful claws. Oh god, oh god, I’m the wolf, the whole time, she thinks as she sees Prim pinned beneath her clawed hands, throat torn open with rivers of blood flowing from it. Should you ever see any of your loved ones again, you will pose a threat to them, and we all know that is unthinkable to you. She does not yet see Prim as a threat, but she sees herself as the monster Snow said she would become.
Snow ignores her distress as he points out the effects of the torture from the last few weeks, and how deteriorated her mind is getting, such as her vivid hallucinations that she believes to be real, to the imaginary bodily changes she has conjured in her mind.
But then Peeta is on the screen, and she’s never seen this before. He’s surrounded by soldiers, and there is a burning building in the background. Usually flames attack people in the visions that plague her dreams. Fire consumes everyone she loves. But here, the flames stay put and attack only the burning building in the background. “See what the Capitol does? I am in District Eight, and it has just been bombed by an air raid from the Capitol. There were wounded, innocent people in that hospital, people who had no ability to defend themselves, and who could not escape. This is what Katniss stood for- for an end to needless suffering, and an end to taking the lives of innocent people. The Capitol would rather set fire to us all to prevent us from running away or fighting back. But do you know what, President Snow? If we burn, you burn with us!”
“Peeta,” she breathes, stunned that she’s been able to keep him for so long, that the wolves (I’m the wolf, I’m the wolf, oh god, I’m the mutt, it’s me, I’m hurting them, I’m the wolf, the wolves are me) or the fire from the building haven’t taken him from her yet, but she can hear the howls trying to cover the sound of his voice. Then her mind fixates on the word bomb and Peeta’s video is suddenly gone. Snow is shouting something about cut them off but Katniss has enough wits to see the cameras are still rolling. Peeta’s voice chases away the howling. If we burn, you burn with us. She hears it over and over.
But I do burn, every night I’m the girl on the fire. I’m a pile of ashes scattered among the shadows. “The wolves- they’re coming- they’re coming for you all- in Thirteen. No- not- not wolves-” she struggles and grasps her hair as she tries to remember the word again, growling in frustration as Snow shouts someone get her but they’re too slow. “The bombs- the bombs- they’re coming- by morning- run-”
And her vision goes red and dark and pain pain pain throbs all through her head before she’s back in the darkness.
***
In the darkness, Katniss can never tell if she feels like she is floating or falling, if she is whole or if she is burning and fluttering into the black abyss. It’s too quiet. Usually she can hear screaming or whispering from Finnick, but it’s completely silent. Too quiet, she thinks, and she starts muttering to herself just to chase away the echo of howls from her nightmare. She thinks she’s awake, anyway. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Her hands pat down her body, and she is mostly sure that she is not on fire or made of ash.
Then there is a bright flash of light as the door to the cell block opens and she shouts from the pain, squeezing her eyes shut. “Over here,” she hears someone say quietly, and then a few sets of footsteps head her way. She thinks it must be time to go on television again, but she doesn’t have anything new to tell them, nothing to share, just visions of wolves and a giant snake, and...
...and Johanna Mason’s face suddenly appears in front of her cell. She doesn’t know what to do about that. This must be a dream. Johanna fiddles with the lock, and Katniss silently watches, unsure how to interact with this dream person, and even more confused as to why the wolves aren’t coming to chase her away, or to haul Katniss back into the dark spaces where she’s floating and falling and torn apart.
“Hey,” Johanna says, surprisingly gentle. Katniss really doesn’t know what to do about a gentle Johanna. She vaguely recalls this girl shouting defiant comments in the arena and stripping naked in an elevator and stabbing her arm. “I’m here to help you. Come on.”
Katniss uneasily crawls out on her hands and knees, not feeling steady enough to walk out, not like she could with how short the cell is. Someone helps her stand, though, and then she lets someone else guide her onto the back of a very tall man and strap her to him. She’s used to people manipulating her body to strap her to things and to guide her to move, and her mind is too fuzzy to ask many questions. “She’s secure,” she hears the tall man say quietly. The voice is unfamiliar to her.
After a few more seconds she hears Finnick, and he is actually saying something, but she’s too dizzy to pay attention. All she knows is that soon she’s being carried out of the cell block on this tall man’s back, and then she is out in the open air, on the roof of the building, and she wants to gulp down all this fresh hair. It smells so much more clean compared to her small cell and there are stars above her and she reaches up with her right hand, trying to touch them and a sob breaks out of her because the damn stars are too far away, and she can’t catch them, but it’s too beautiful for her to look at for too long and she doesn’t know why she’s crying, but there are stars and air and then it feels like there is too much space and she feels like she’s going to vomit and cry harder and like she can’t breathe. Someone says something about “overwhelmed” and “hyperventilating.” Then there’s a small plastic mask over her nose and mouth and someone is poking a needle into her arm which is nothing new, but this time it feels cool and soothing, and not hot and painful, so she welcomes the coolness and the clean air and falls asleep.
***
“-before it progressed too far... take another few weeks, but may be salvageable... minds are malleable... flush it out...”
Katniss groans at the throbbing in her head. Her eyes blink open, but she closes them again. The room is too bright, too white, that it hurts to see. Something shifts on the mattress beside her. For a moment, she pushes through the haze enough to marvel at how soft the mattress feels, and that she feels grounded rather than like she is floating aimlessly in a vast darkness. She opens her eyes again just the slightest bit, enough to realize there is a peachy-yellow haze hovering over her face, and as her eyes try to focus she just barely makes out two clear blue dots where eyes should be.
“Katniss?” The voice sounds like it’s coming from the hazy image above her, a voice she knows, a voice that’s in danger because of her, because she’s a wolf mutt and could hurt him. She wants to cry out for him to run away from her, but her hands aren’t reaching for his throat, and the howling isn’t starting up just yet. Maybe they have some time.
“Peeta?” she croaks, her voice hoarse, but he must understand her because suddenly she feels the warmth of him covering her as he gingerly slides his arms around her and his face presses into her neck.
“It’s me,” he confirms quietly. The familiar press of his lips to her neck helps keep the wolf at bay, and she tries to focus on that through the haze of all the terrible images her mind is trying to bring forward, of her claws ripping him to shreds, his blood on her hands, her teeth tearing into his flesh. Should you ever see any of your loved ones again, you will pose a threat to them, and we all know that is unthinkable to you. But he feels so warm and she remembers these steady arms holding her.
Katniss starts to cry, because she needs to warn him to run away from her no matter how much she wants to bask in the comfort of being held. “I’m- I’m a mutt-” she whispers. “I’m a wolf- you should go-”
“What?” he replies, sitting up just enough to look down at her. “No. No, you’re not a wolf. We saved you. You’re safe now.”
“My hands- they’re claws- I’ll hurt you-” she manages.
Peeta reaches down for her hand. She protests, but he lifts it. Her vision is still blurry, but they look like hands, at least for now. “How-” she starts.
“You’ve been out for days. I was so worried- it’s been days. Nearly a week,” he says and leans back down to press his forehead to hers. “I thought I’d lost you for good. I never should’ve let you out of my sight.”
Days. She’s been asleep (or drugged into staying asleep) for days. Well, considering she doesn’t even know how long she was in the Capitol, or what the date is, it’s not much of a big deal to her. At least she’s had a mostly dreamless sleep since leaving the Capitol. She realizes he’s still talking and tries to concentrate on that. “-catch you up on all that later. Your mother and Prim will be in soon, but... I just want to be with you right now, if that’s all right.”
Katniss looks at her hands again to confirm that they aren’t about to sprout fur and razor sharp claws. They remain normal hands, so she nods weakly. “Stay,” she mumbles, sleep trying to pull her back down. His hand covers hers, and she focuses on that as she falls asleep again.