Victor by Night | Finnick Odair

Sage : 2

Chapter Two

We are immediately marched into the Justice Building to find Head Peacekeeper Thread waiting for us.

"New procedure," he says with a smile.

We're ushered out the back door, into a car, and taken to the train station. There are no cameras on the platform, no crowd to send us on our way. Danno appears, escorted by guards. Peacekeepers hurry us all onto the train and slam the door. The wheels begin to turn.

And I'm left staring out the window, watching District 5 disappear, with all my good-byes still hanging on my lips.

I remain at the window long after the forests have swallowed up the last glimpse of my home. This time I don't have even the slightest hope of return. Before my first Games, I promised myself I would do everything I could to win, and now I've sworn to myself to do all I can to keep myself alive.

I will probably never reverse this journey again.

I'd actually figured out what I wanted my last words to my loved ones to be. How it's best to close and lock the doors and leave them sad but safely behind. And now the Capitol has stolen that as well.

"We'll write letters, Sagitarra," says Gerard from behind me. "It will be better, anyway. Give them a piece of us to hold on to. Danno will deliver them for us if... they need to be delivered."

I nod and go straight to my room. I sit on the bed, knowing I will never write those letters. They will be like the speeches I tried to write in honor of the fallen tributes from the Districts on the Victory Tour. Things seemed clear in my head and even when I talked before the crowd, but the words never came out of the pen right. Besides, they were meant to go with embraces and kisses and a stroke of my mother's hair, a squeeze of my grandmother's hand. They cannot be delivered with a wooden box containing my cold, stiff body.

Too heartsick to cry, all I want is to curl up on the bed and sleep until we arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning. But I have a mission. No, it's more than a mission. It's my dying wish. Keep myself alive. And as unlikely as it seems that I can achieve it in the face of the Capitol's anger, it's important that I be at the top of my game. This won't happen if I'm mourning for everyone I love back home. Let them go, I tell myself. Say goodbye and forget them.

I do my best, thinking of them one by one, releasing them like birds from the protective cages inside me, locking the doors against their return.

By the time Danno knocks on my door to call me to dinner, I'm empty. But the lightness isn't entirely unwelcome.

The meal's subdued. So subdued, in fact, that there are long periods of silence relieved only by the removal of old dishes and presentation of new ones. A cold soup of pureed vegetables. Fish cakes with creamy lime paste. Those little birds filled with orange sauce, with wild rice and watercress. Chocolate custard dotted with cherries.

Gerard and Danno make occasional attempts at conversation that quickly dies out.

"Shall we watch the recap of the reapings?" says Danno, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a white linen napkin.

Gerard goes off to retrieve his notebook on the remaining living victors, and we gather in the compartment with the television to see who our competition will be in the arena. We are all in place as the anthem begins to play and the annual recap of the reaping ceremonies in the twelve districts begins.

In the history of the Games, there have been seventy-five victors, one per game, except last year when the kids from District 12 declared their love and survived together...

Better to have two victors, rather than none.

Fifty-nine of the victors are still alive. I recognize many of their faces, either from seeing them as tributes or mentors at previous Games or from our recent viewing of the victors' tapes. Some are so old or wasted by illness, drugs, or alcohol that I can't place them. As one would expect, the pools of Career tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 are the largest. But every district has managed to scrape up at least one female and one male victor.

The reapings go by quickly. Gerard studiously puts stars by the names of the chosen tributes in his notebook. Danno watches, his face devoid of emotion, as friends of his step up to take the stage. He makes hushed, distressed comments like, "Oh, not Cecelia," or, "Well, Chaff never could stay out of a fight," and sighs frequently.

For my part, I try to make some mental record of the other tributes, but like past years, only a few really stick in my head. There's the classically beautiful brother and sister from District 1 who were victors in consecutive years when I was little. Brutus, a volunteer from District 2, who must be at least forty and apparently can't wait to get back in the arena. A hysterical young woman with flowing brown hair is called from 4, but she's quickly replaced by a volunteer, an eighty-year-old woman who needs a cane to walk to the stage.

Then there's Johanna Mason, the only living female victor from 7, who won a few years back by pretending she was a weakling. The woman from 8 who Danno calls Cecelia, who looks about thirty, has to detach herself from the three kids who run up to cling to her. Chaff, a man from 11 who I know to be one of Danno's particular friends, is also in.

Katniss Everdeen and Haymitch Abernathy are drawn to compete this year, but then replaced by Peeta when he steps forward as a volunteer. The couple fascinates me in ways I can't describe. They keep each other alive, and after everything... they are still District 12's Tributes for the 75th Annual Hunger Games.

One person in particular also caught the retrospect of my mind. Finnick Odair from District 4. The handsome, bronze-haired guy who was crowned five years ago at the age of fourteen. Something in my mind had me particularly keen on his appearance and his order on stage. He violently showed his disrespect towards the Capitol, and didn't give a single crap if Snow saw it.

When I finally snap back to reality, the reapings has skipped to my District. Janison is called. Then I volunteer. Then Gerard.

One of the announcers actually gets teary because it seems the odds will never be in my favor. My poor soul from District 5. Me: who people seem to take a clingful liking to (for some odd reason); calling me "the daughter of the Capitol."

Then the announcer pulls herself together to say she bets that, "These will be the best Games ever!"

Danno leaves the compartment without a word, and the chef, after making a few unconnected comments about this tribute or that, bids us good night. I just sit there watching Gerard rip out the pages of the victors who were not picked.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" he says.

Because I can't handle the nightmares... I think. They are sure to be dreadful tonight. Too many memories of the Desert-themed arena lurking in the back of my mind. Too many faces covered in blood.

Nettle killed Tuls. I killed Nettle. Azo killed Heckle. Neam killed Azo. Cress killed Neam. Yarro killed Cress. Rigg killed Yarro. Weiss killed Rigg. Vender killed Weiss. Pocan killed Vender. The deaths went on, and on, and on until I was the only one. Until Pocan tried to kill me.

Until I killed Pocan.

"What are you going to do?" I ask.

"Just review my notes awhile. Get a clear picture of what I'm up against. But I'll go over it with you in the morning. Go to bed, Sagitarra," he says.

I sigh an, "Okay," but before I leave, I turn back to the middle-aged man. "Hey, Gerard?" He looks up from his notes. "Call me Sage."