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Chapter Thirty-Three

When Martha came downstairs in the morning, she was surprised to smell coffee brewing and hear the faint crackle of a fire in the fireplace. Clark had been oversleeping so often that she’d grown used to leaving while the house was dark and chilly — she didn’t want to build up the fire and then leave it to burn out while she was at the farm.

Clark was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of him. He was asleep, or almost asleep — his face was sinking ever closer to the coffee in front of him. Judging from his expression, whatever he was thinking or dreaming about wasn’t pleasant.

Remembering what he had said about possibly lashing out at her, Martha stood on the other side of kitchen and softly called his name. “Clark …”

Clark sat up with a startled gasp, his arms flying out defensively and knocking his coffee across the room. The cup shattered against the wall, leaving a sizable dent.

He jumped up, looking around frantically before realizing that he was in the kitchen with his mother. He stared at the dent in the wall and the mess of spilled coffee and shattered ceramic for a moment, then sighed tiredly and went to clean it up.

“I’ll fix this later,” he told Martha as he wiped up the mess. Moving quickly, he prepared two more cups of coffee and handed one to his mother, then sipped the other while leaning against the counter, afraid that if he sat down, he’d start dozing off again.

Martha looked at him as she took a sip of her coffee. He looked even more tired than he had the night before, and she wondered if he’d slept at all. She hadn’t heard him crash to the floor even once.

When Martha had gotten up, the house had been quiet, so she had assumed that Clark was sleeping. She’d intended to wake him up to help her with the chores, but had decided to let him sleep until the last minute — Clark was capable of getting ready to go in a matter of seconds. Instead, he’d come downstairs while she was getting ready for the day, building a fire and making coffee.

“Did you sleep well last night, honey?” she asked.

Clark shrugged, unwilling to admit that he’d never gone to bed. After leaving Haver’s house, he’d waited on the street outside, using his X-ray vision to make sure Haver wasn’t watching him, then walked to the cemetery. He’d stood at Becky’s grave for a long time, contemplating what Haver had told him, before moving on to his father’s grave, standing there silently until a patrolling Peacekeeper had caught sight of him and demanded to know what he was doing there at that hour. When the Peacekeeper had recognized Clark, he’d left him alone, but not before asking if he was cold without a coat.

Clark had finally gone home and spent the last hour of the night sitting on the side of the roof that faced away from his neighbors so no one would see him. When he’d heard Martha moving around, he’d gone inside, showering, shaving, and dressing at superspeed before building the fire and making the coffee. He was determined to be more helpful and not leave his mother with all the work.

“Clark, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” she began.

The last thing Clark wanted was to continue the previous night’s argument with his mother, so he quickly drained the scalding liquid from his cup and said, “It’s pretty slippery out there, so we should get going early if we want to get to the farm in time to milk the cows. I’ll go bank the fire.”

Martha sighed as Clark disappeared into the living room, closing the door behind him. She knew that he could hear her easily without her having to raise her voice, but she couldn’t hear his response — if he gave one — without him speaking more loudly than normal. Evidently he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but there were things that needed to be said.

Picking up her coffee, Martha followed Clark into the living room. She stopped short when she saw him crouched in front of the fireplace, beating down the flames with his bare hands.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to use your freeze breath to put out the flames?” she asked.

Clark paused for a moment, then shook his head. “This works fine.” He started scooping ashes up around the coals.

“Clark —“

Clark got to his feet. “That should do it. We can build the fire up again when we get back.” In a flash, he was out the back door.

Martha sighed, shaking her head and taking the time to finish her coffee before going after him.

*****

Clark did his best to avoid any sort of meaningful conversation with his mother. On the trip to the farm, he would dart ahead whenever she tried to talk to him, searching for any potential dangers on the icy road. Once at the farm, he quickly mucked out the stalls, filled the water troughs, and forked down hay from the hayloft, then disappeared into the house to make tea for the two of them to drink before the cold ride back, leaving Martha to milk the cows and tend to the injured mare.

On the trip back to Victor’s Village, he continued to hurry away whenever his mother spoke to him, and when they reached the house, he took over caring for the horse while Martha went inside to prepare breakfast.

Martha was pleased that he was making an effort to be helpful, but still felt that they needed to talk. It was impossible to have an actual conversation when he kept avoiding her, though.

She’d hoped to talk to him over breakfast, but he finished his food in seconds and took off, saying something about needing to fix Haver’s fence. Martha wondered why, but he offered no explanation.

Clark spent most of the day mending Haver’s fence, fixing not just the part that he’d broken, but all the other parts that needed repair. The groundskeeper helped him bring the necessary tools and materials to fix the fence, and Clark avoided questions about his apparent immunity to the cold by wearing his father’s coat, which he had brought from the farm. He worked at normal human speed, not just to avoid raising questions but also to avoid going back into his own house.

It was mid-afternoon before Clark went inside his house, where he immediately set about repairing the dent he’d made in the kitchen wall when he’d thrown his coffee mug against it. Martha gave up on trying to talk to him while he worked when he deliberately made enough noise to drown out his own voice unless he yelled.

When the wall was fixed, Martha tried again to talk to Clark. Sitting at the table, she began, “Clark, I need to talk to you —“

Clark tilted his head, hearing something. “Someone’s coming.” He headed for the door, using his X-ray vision to see who it was.

“Clark!”

“It’s Pete and Lana.” Clark opened the door and stepped out just as his friends reached his front gate. They dismounted the horse they were riding and tied it to the fence.

Clark hurried to greet them, a genuine smile on his face. He hadn’t seen them since the last Parcel Day, and it was only the second time they’d come to the house — the first time had been for the wake following Jonathan’s funeral.

“Pete! Lana!” he greeted them. “What brings you here? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“We expected you to come visit,” Lana informed him, “since you don’t have to work like the rest of us.”

“I’ve been helping Mom with the farm,” Clark told them, a bit defensively. It was true that he hadn’t gone to visit with them, but he knew that they had time to come see him now that it was winter. Finding time to visit friends wasn’t something any of them were really used to — when they were in school it was easy to see each other, as they always walked part of the way to and from school together and saw each other at school. In the summer, they had sneaked away whenever they could and met at the pond that intersected the Kent and Irig farms, snacking on cattails and berries and enjoying the cool water.

Things had been different since the Games, though, both because Clark had taken part in them and because they were all beginning to take on adult responsibilities. Pete and Lana were engaged and would soon marry and make a home of their own, with children probably following soon after. Rachel had taken over a great deal of the responsibility for running her family’s farm — and her relationship with her friends had been different since Clark had returned home. Clark didn’t have the responsibilities that his friends did, though he had been helping around the farm, but his fear of doing harm to his friends had led him to avoid them.

Clark tilted his head slightly, a puzzled frown on his face as his superhearing picked up on something he didn’t quite understand. Shaking his head slightly, he ignored the sound. “Come in!” he told them. “It’s freezing out here.”

Pete nodded. “There’s a storm blowing in, but I don’t think it’ll hit for a while yet.”

“Pete and I were in town,” Lana added, “so we thought we’d stop by and give you the news.”

Clark opened the door of his house, ushering them in. Martha gave him an exasperated look, then turned to greet Clark’s friends.

“Pete, Lana, it’s good to see you. How long has it been?”

“We saw Clark on Parcel Day,” Lana said, “but he really needs to come and visit.”

Clark gave his mother a pleading look, hoping that she wouldn’t tell his friends that he’d been avoiding them. Martha looked at him sharply, but only said, “He’s been helping around the farm — it’s lot of work when it’s just two people.”

Pete nodded. “Yeah. I guess with Mr. Kent gone …” He trailed off.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Clark finally broke it by asking, “What news did you have?”

Lana put an arm around Pete. “We’ve finally set a date for the wedding!”

“Congratulations!” Martha exclaimed. “This calls for a celebration!”

In minutes, the two guests were sitting at the table in the kitchen with slices of apple pie in front of them. The teapot was steaming on the stove, while Martha pulled a box of tea from a cabinet — real tea, rather than the herbal mixtures they usually drank.

A short time later, Martha and Clark joined their guests at the table. “So, when is the wedding?” Clark asked.

“A week from today,” Lana responded.

Martha gave her an astonished look. “A week from today?!”

Weddings in District 9 weren’t usually elaborate affairs. The brief ceremony was performed by the judge at the Justice Building, and the newly married couple signed a few papers to make the marriage legal. The bride and groom usually wore their best clothes, or, if they were from families that were well-to-do enough, they bought new clothes, though always garments that were practical enough to be worn for other occasions.

Afterwards, there would be a celebration with family and friends. Food was brought by the guests, if they could spare some, though the one item considered essential, and usually made or purchased by the couple themselves, was a cake. Frequently it was a very small cake, sometimes not bigger than a couple of bites, and made using the same cheap grain issued as tesserae, without eggs or butter — a bread-like cake referred to as a “poor man’s cake.” Larger, richer cakes were made or purchased if the couple could afford them, but no marriage was considered complete until the bride and groom had fed each other bites of cake.

Even if food was scarce, the wedding celebration was still a time of music and dancing — people who had instruments brought them, favored songs of the newlyweds were sung, and people danced the often-elaborate square dances that had been a tradition in District 9 since before the Dark Days.

In spite of the fact that District 9 weddings didn’t tend to be elaborate, people usually took more than a week to plan them — if only to give their guests a chance to scrape together some extra food. Many engagements took place right after the final Reaping for the younger member of the couple, and many weddings took place soon after the Games. People seldom married during the Games — it was considered obscene to celebrate while the district’s tributes were dying. This usually allowed enough time to plan for weddings, and gave people something to think about besides the fact that two of the district’s children were dying for the Capitol’s entertainment.

Even couples who married long after the Games were over usually allowed a few weeks to plan. In addition to the festivities, limited though they were, the newly married couple would need a place to live and a way to support themselves without their families. Planning a wedding in only a week was almost unheard of.

Pete and Lana looked a little uncomfortable at Martha’s exclamation. They glanced at each other, then at Clark, who smiled slightly, now understanding the odd sound he kept hearing.

“Well … uh …” Pete began. “We’ve been engaged for a while now — since Reaping Day, actually — and Clark made us promise to invite him to the wedding.” He didn’t add that they hadn’t really expected Clark to survive the Games, although they’d held off on making plans out of respect for him. “By the time he came home and all the festivities were over, it was harvest time, so there really wasn’t time for a wedding, and then Mr. Kent died, and it didn’t seem right to have a wedding right after that. He always treated us like we were his own kids, and we would have liked to have had all of you there.”

“We realized that you just never know what’s going to happen,” Lana added, “so … we decided to go ahead and get married. The wedding is next Sunday at two o’clock at the Justice Building, and then we’ll all meet at the Community Center.”

“We’ll be there!” Clark promised. He watched his friends carefully scraping the last bits of pie from their plates. “Would you like more pie?”

Reluctantly, Lana shook her head. “No. I’m okay.”

Pete nodded in agreement. “We’re fine.”

“There’s plenty,” Clark reminded them. “If you’d like another piece …”

“Well …” Pete looked at Lana, who kept glancing hungrily at the pie sitting on the counter. “Lana could probably use another piece, if you can spare it.”

“There’s enough for both of you to have more,” Martha told them, getting up and bringing the pie to the table. She quickly cut two more slices. “Go ahead. There were plenty of apples this year.”

“We’re not going to go hungry if you have more,” Clark reminded them. “I can afford plenty of food.”

“If only you’d eat it,” Martha mumbled under her breath.

Clark heard her clearly. He narrowed his eyes at her, then dug into his half-eaten slice of pie.

Pete and Lana thanked their hosts, then started eating their second slices of pie, glancing worriedly out the kitchen window at the darkening sky as they did so. They needed to get home before the storm hit, but the prospect of having full stomachs was too tempting to pass up — ordinarily, they would have rejected second helpings for fear of their friends going hungry, but Clark was right. The Kents were wealthy now, and didn’t have to worry about not having enough to eat.

Clark quickly finished his pie, his gaze also on the window. All of them were familiar with the vagaries of the weather, and paid close attention to it — a farmer’s life depended upon the weather, after all — but he could sense changes more strongly and more quickly than the others because of his enhanced senses, and what his senses told him was that this was going to be a powerful storm with a lot of snow.

As soon as they were finished eating, Lana picked up their dishes and carried them toward the sink. With another look out the window, she told Pete, “We need to go as soon as we’ve helped clean up.”

Martha had also been watching the weather, so she told them, “Don’t risk it. It’s already snowing. There’s plenty of room for you to stay here for the night.”

Pete stood, shaking his head. “We’d better not. Our families will be worried …”

“… and they might come looking for us,” Lana finished. “We don’t want them out in the storm.”

Clark took the dishes from her. “I’ll clean up. You two get going. It’s snowing, but you should have time to make it home before it really gets bad.”

Pete and Lana glanced at each other. They didn’t know how he did it, but Clark could often predict what the weather would do, and they trusted his judgment. Nodding, they headed for the door.

“I’ll walk you out,” Clark said. To his mother, he added, “I’ll clean up in a minute, Mom.”

A few minutes later, Pete helped Lana into the saddle before climbing up behind her. Before turning to go, they stopped and looked at Clark.

“Clark … I know we haven’t seen you much since … since summer, except during the harvest, but … we’re not trying to avoid you. Really, we’re not,” Lana started.

“It’s just that everything’s been so busy, and … maybe we should have come to see you after … after the Games, and then after your dad died … more than at the funeral, I mean …” Pete added.

“We just didn’t know quite what to say,” Lana told him. “We’re glad you came home … and you’re one of the decent victors.”

Clark stiffened at the word decent. A lot of people had referred to him that way, most of whom hadn’t known that he could hear them, but it always bothered him to hear it. He agreed with Rachel’s assessment that no one decent ever won the Hunger Games, and he had long since stopped thinking of himself in that way. He did what he could for others, but it didn’t make up for what he’d done in the arena — and no one but he actually knew all of what had happened.

“I … ah … thank you,” he told them, not sure what else to say. “I’ll try to get over to see you soon.” Glancing up at the sky, he added, “You’d better get going. I don’t want you to get caught in the storm.”

Pete nodded, reining the horse around and heading in the direction of their homes. It was only a mile and a half to the Lang farm, and only half a mile more to the Ross farm, but in bad weather it was still a long way to go.

Clark watched them for a moment before hurrying back through the gate and into his own house. In moments, he’d poured another cup of tea for Martha, prepared just the way she liked it, and washed the dishes, drying them using his heat vision.

“I’m going to make sure they get home safely,” he told Martha, grabbing his coat and disappearing out the door before she could say a word.

*****

Clark returned home about half an hour later. He had followed his friends at a distance, not wanting them to ask why he was following them. Once they were safely home, Clark had disappeared into the storm, heading back to Victor’s Village at superspeed. He was tired of avoiding his mother, though he could happily have put off their conversation forever.

He was covered with snow when he got back to the house, so after making sure no one was watching, he spun quickly, getting rid of the snow before going inside. Martha had scrubbed the floors of the house while he was mending Haver’s fence, so he thought the least he could do was avoid tracking snow and mud inside.

Martha was sitting in the living room in front of the fire when he came in. Clark had been avoiding talking to her all day, and she knew why. There were things they needed to talk about, things that he didn’t want to hear. While he was gone, she had thought about what to say, trying to come up with a way to talk to him without setting him off.

He was reasonably calm when he walked in, so she felt it was safe to assume that his friends had made it home safely. Instead of broaching the subjects she knew would upset him, she decided to start with something neutral.

Going to sit on the couch, she started, “I’m surprised Pete and Lana are getting married so soon. I know they’ve been engaged for a while, but a week isn’t much time.”

Clark leaned against the wall near the fireplace. “If they wait much longer, no one is going to pretend to believe that the babies came early.”

“What?” Martha gave him a startled look. “Lana’s pregnant?”

“She’s having twins. I can’t think of any other reason she’d have three heartbeats. It took me a while to figure out what I was hearing, because I didn’t expect her to be pregnant. They don’t know that I know, though, so please don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course I won’t say anything. It’s their secret until they choose to reveal it. I wonder what they’re going to do about a place to live, though — it’s not easy to build a house in the winter, and it will be awkward if they have to live with either of their families.”

“I heard them talking while I was following them. They’re going to live in the old house on the edge of the Ross farm.”

“That place is falling down! It makes the house we raised you in look like a Victor’s Village mansion!”

“It’s better than nothing, and it’ll give them some privacy.”

“Along with frostbite in the winter and snakebite in the summer!”

“I’d offer to let them stay here until they can get a house built or apply for a farm of their own, but I’m not allowed to do that. I can only have my family living here permanently … or a woman I’m engaged to.” Which is never going to happen, he thought. He wasn’t looking forward to telling his mother that she would never have grandchildren.

Martha sat quietly for a moment, lost in thought. After a moment, she looked up at her son. Scooting over on the couch, she said, “Clark, sit down. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Clark looked around, trying to think of a way to delay this conversation. He turned to the fire, picking up a chunk of wood and adding it to the flames. “Just a minute, Mom.”

“Now, Clark!”

“I just need to —“

“Clark Kent, sit down!”

Clark knew better than to argue with his mother when she used that tone of voice. Abandoning the fire, he sat down on the couch, keeping as far from her as possible.

Before she could say anything, he spoke. “Mom, I know I haven’t been doing as good a job at things as I should, but I can do better. I did a lot of work today, and I can do more … it doesn’t even make me tired.”

Martha looked at him, noting that, if anything, he looked even more exhausted than he had the night before. She shook her head. “It’s not about that, Clark.” When he started to speak, she put up a hand to stop him. “It’s about the farm.”

Clark gave her a confused look. “What about it?”

“Clark, I’ve thinking about this for a while — since your father died, in fact. I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep the farm productive, and if I can’t, I’ll be evicted.”

“Mom, don’t worry. I can help. I’ll always help.”

“I know, but you may not always be able to help.”

“I know I haven’t gotten things done as fast as I should, but I can do better! I —“

“I know you’ll do everything you can, Clark, but … you’re a victor now, and you may have to spend time in the Capitol — maybe a lot of time.”

Clark shook his head vehemently. “That doesn’t matter! I can fly home in minutes, maybe even in seconds if I have to!”

“And if someone notices that you’re here when you’re supposed to be in the Capitol? How will you explain that? What will President Snow do if someone finds out what you can do?”

Clark paled at the thought. If the people of District 9 found out about his powers, everyone would suffer.

“Well … maybe I won’t have to be in the Capitol much. Not all victors have to spend much time there.”

“You’re new and, from what I hear, quite the celebrity. And since Snow knows what you can do …”

Clark clenched his fists. He knew that Snow wanted something from him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he had a strong feeling that it didn’t involve hiding out in District 9. Still, he shook his head. “Mom, no! You can’t just give our home back to the Capitol! That’s where you found me, and where the baby you replaced with me is buried, and where Dad died …”

“I wasn’t thinking of giving it back to the Capitol. I was actually thinking of signing it over to Pete and Lana once they’re married.”

“But …” Clark looked down. He knew that his friends needed a place to live and that they were experienced at farming and could make a living at it. Still …

“Mom, what if they find the Kryptonite?”

“They won’t know what it’s buried there for, so unless they try to show it to you, it shouldn’t be a problem. Our farm isn’t the only place it landed, you know. It’s entirely possible that there’s chunks still buried around District 9. Wayne Irig found a good-sized piece about a year ago after the wind blew down an oak tree on his farm. He brought it over to show it to your father. Luckily, you were at school, so you weren’t exposed to it. Your dad knew how dangerous it was, so he talked Wayne into taking it to the Justice Building and arranging to sell it to someone in the Capitol. In retrospect, that may not have been such a good idea, but at the time, he was just thinking about protecting you.”

Clark shuddered inwardly, wondering if the chunk of Kryptonite had been used to make Platinum’s pendant or Snow’s pocket watch. He knew there was a fair amount of the stuff around, making it somewhat surprising that he hadn’t encountered more of it in the Capitol. It was fortunate that neither Haver nor Matilda was interested in jewelry, or they might have inadvertently exposed him to it.

Martha could see the conflicting emotions in her son’s face. He wanted his friends to have a good place to live, but he didn’t want to give up the place where he’d grown up. Having a sense of home was important in District 9 — few people moved far from where they’d grown up, and being forced to give up the place one called home was painful.

“You don’t have to decide right away, honey,” she told him. “The wedding isn’t for a week.”

Clark shook his head. “It’s not my decision to make,” he told her. “It’s yours. I have no legal claim to the farm. Whatever you decide, though, you’ll always have a home here. This house is mine for as long as I live.”

“The farm would have been yours to work if you hadn’t been Reaped,” Martha pointed out. “That’s why I want you to have a say in the matter. As to this house, I can stay here for now, but once you marry, I think you’ll want more privacy.”

Clark took a deep breath. “You don’t need to worry about that, Mom. I’m never getting married.”

“I know things didn’t work out with Rachel, but there are other girls. Many of them would be more than happy to be your wife, if you gave them a chance.”

He shook his head. “It’s not about Rachel, Mom, or Lois, or even about my powers. The Capitol likes to Reap the children of victors. Any child I have will wind up in the Games, either to die for the Capitol’s entertainment or to live with what they had to do to become a victor. I’m not going to let that happen — it’s better if they never exist at all than if they have to die for the Capitol’s pleasure. I won’t make any woman suffer while her children are torn away from her. Rachel will find someone who will give her children that she has a chance of keeping — someone who isn’t me.” Clark turned to Martha. “I know you wanted grandchildren, Mom, and I’m the only one who can give them to you … but I can’t do it. I can’t bring children into the world just to watch them die. You’ll never have grandchildren, Mom, but you’ll never have to watch them die, either. They just … won’t exist.”

Martha looked at her son. She was disappointed by his decision, but she knew that it must be much worse for him. In spite of his differences, Clark had always assumed that he would have a normal life — a wife, children, working the farm and eventually taking it over. In just a short time, everything he had hoped for had been swept away, leaving him to face a new reality that he didn’t quite know how to handle.

Quietly, she got up and sat beside him, putting an arm around him. Clark leaned against her. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Martha shook her head. “I won’t say I’m not disappointed, because I am. I don’t blame you, though. When Marcius called your name on Reaping Day, it was one of the worst moments of your father’s and my lives. Our son — our only child — had been selected for almost certain death. We knew you had a chance, but we also knew that there was no guarantee you’d make it back alive, and we were afraid of what the experience would do to you if you did survive.”

“You were right to worry, Mom. I’m … not the same boy whose name was called on Reaping Day. I made it home, but … it might have been better if I hadn’t.” He got up, going to stand in front of the fireplace.

Martha drew in a sharp breath. “Clark! How can you say that?!” She followed him to the fireplace, forcing him to look at her.

Clark laughed humorlessly. “Think about it, Mom. I hurt Rachel by allying myself with Lois. Pete and Lana delayed their wedding so I could be there, and now they’re going to wind up living in a broken-down shed because they can’t wait any longer. Something that I did in the arena made Snow so angry that he exposed me to Kryptonite and had me flogged, and the stress of seeing that killed Dad.”

“Clark, no! Everyone is glad you came home!”

“If I hadn’t survived, Dad would still be here, and you wouldn’t be in danger of being evicted from the farm.”

“Do you really think that seeing you killed would have hurt your father less than seeing you flogged? He had his first heart attack the first night you were in the arena, when Lois went after you. I couldn’t even go for help until mandatory viewing was over.”

“Lois wasn’t trying to kill me,” Clark mumbled. “She just wanted the rabbit I’d killed. She was hungry.”

“We didn’t know that. It looked like she was trying to kill you while you slept. I kept talking to your father after he had his heart attack, pointing out that you had held your own, that you and Lois were becoming allies, even if you didn’t call it that, that Lois showed that she had a conscience when she cried over that girl she thought she’d killed.

“Adra told Jonathan to take it easy for a while — not an easy thing to do on a farm — so I did as much of the work as I could while he watched the Games, hoping that you’d make it. When your victory was announced, he actually ran to get me — which he shouldn’t have been doing, but he couldn’t wait to share the news. When I saw him running toward me, I feared the worst, but then I saw how happy he was, and I knew that you were coming home.

“His health improved after your victory was announced — all the fear and stress were gone. He was so proud of you — not only had you survived, but you had managed to get through the Games and still remain a decent human being.”

Clark grimaced, turning away. “And then he died anyway.”

“If you’d died in the Games, it would have killed your father. Your survival bought him an extra two months — and they were good months. You came home, and you used your newfound wealth to help the Rasens and us, and you helped with the harvest, just like you always had. We were proud of you — and I still am. What happened to your father was not your fault. You didn’t choose to be flogged.

“It wasn’t easy for you after you came home — we both recognized that — but you did the best you could. In spite of what you went through, you’re still a good person.”

Clark shook his head, bending down to pick up a coal that had rolled out of the fire and landed on the hearth. He stared at it for a moment before tossing it back into the fire. “No, Mom, I’m not. I was a decent person before the Games — I tried to be, anyway — but not anymore. Lots of people talk about how I’m a ‘decent’ victor because I only killed one person — they don’t know that I can hear them. I’m not, though. Not anymore.”

“Clark, you didn’t have a choice in the matter. In the Games, you have to kill to survive — and if you hadn’t, that boy would have killed Lois.”

“It shouldn’t have happened. Those glasses weren’t my regular ones. They didn’t block my X-ray vision at all. I could have looked through Lysander and made sure it was safe before I shoved him away, but I didn’t even think about it. All I saw was that he was threatening Lois, so I shoved him — and killed him.”

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

“No!” Clark shook his head vehemently. “She was a friend … a good friend … but I didn’t love her. If I had, I wouldn’t have —“ He stopped abruptly, realizing what he’d almost said.

“Wouldn’t have what?” Martha asked.

“Nothing.” Clark picked up another piece of wood, almost crushing it before he put it into the fire.

“Clark …”

Clark straightened, leaning against the mantle and staring blankly at the two framed photographs there — the one that he’d carried as his token in the Games and the one he had taken with his mother a week after his father’s death. Maybe I should tell her, he thought. If I do, then she’ll stop trying to help me. She’ll see me as I really am.

After a moment of indecision, he turned back to Martha.

“You know what’s the worst part? All those people who think I’m so decent — including you — wouldn’t think so if they knew the truth. Everyone saw me kill Lysander by accident, so they think I’m still a decent person. Surviving the Hunger Games while killing only one person is rare enough that people are willing to forgive that one death — but it wasn’t just one person I killed. It was two.”

“Two?” Martha looked at him in confusion, trying to figure out what he was talking about. Then she realized … every death in the Games had been televised but one — and that one had happened after Clark had thrown the poncho over the camera.

“I killed Lois, Mom. She saved my life, and I repaid her by killing her.”

With a look of shocked sympathy, Martha reached out to him, realizing the enormity of the burden he’d been carrying. She’d seen everything that had happened in the moments before Clark had covered the camera — it had been shown on television repeatedly, with teary-eyed commentators talking about their tragic, doomed love — and she knew that Clark hadn’t done it out of malice or to make himself victor. His devastation had been clear when he had removed the poncho from the camera and covered Lois with it.

Clark stepped away, not allowing his mother to hug him. He didn’t deserve to be comforted, and though he saw her hurt look, he kept moving, putting some distance between them.

“Clark, what happened? How did Lois die?”

“I … I …” Clark turned and looked out the window. “I froze her, Mom,” he said after a moment. “She was bleeding to death from those rat bites, and she was in so much pain — and I’d made it worse by trying to cauterize the bites. I knew that she was going to die in agony, just like Mayson did … and I couldn’t … couldn’t watch that happen, so I froze her to keep her from suffering anymore.

“It was so cold … and she’d been suffering from that, too. I thought it would look like she’d died from natural hypothermia. Only maybe it didn’t — maybe Snow found out how she died. It might be why he had me flogged.

“I didn’t try hard enough to save her, Mom. I should have tried to get out of the arena and take her to someone who could help her — maybe her father. He’s a doctor. He might have been able to save her. I can’t get through force fields, but I could have tunneled out …”

“And then everyone in Panem would have known your secret — and it probably wouldn’t have worked, anyway.” At Clark’s questioning look, she continued, “A few years before we found you, a couple of tributes tried to dig a tunnel into the Cornucopia so they could catch the Careers unaware. They’d only dug down a few feet when they hit an underground force field, which electrocuted both of them. If you’d tried to tunnel out of the arena, you would probably have found the same thing. Lois would have died anyway, but more painfully, and the Capitol would have destroyed both your family and friends and Lois’s in retaliation.”

“I still shouldn’t have done what I did. I should have left things alone and … and just been there for her, like I was for Mayson.”

“And then she would have died in agony … while you watched.”

“At least I wouldn’t have killed her!” Clark looked away when Martha came up to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I murdered Lois, Mom — just as much as I murdered Lysander.” He stepped away from her, heading in the direction of the door. “You and Dad tried to raise me right, but in the end, I’m exactly what the scientists who created me wanted — a deadly weapon, like any other muttation, cold and conscienceless —“

“You are not cold and conscienceless, Clark! If you were, you wouldn’t be beating yourself up over what happened in the Games. You didn’t kill out of joy, or malice, or convenience — Lysander’s death was an accident, and Lois’s was an act of mercy.” Martha followed him down the hall, stopping him at the front door and turning him to look at her. “Listen to me, Clark. You couldn’t have saved either of them.”

Clark backed away from her. “You weren’t there, Mom. You don’t understand … you can’t understand. I can do so much, but I couldn’t save any of the tributes … not even from myself.” He looked around frantically, searching for a way to end their painful conversation. Seeing the clock on the wall, he said, “The animals at the farm need to be taken care of.”

Martha took a deep breath, realizing that he didn’t want to talk about the Games anymore, but also knowing that much more needed to be said. Allowing him to back away from the conversation for a moment, she said, “I’ll go saddle the horse.”

Clark shook his head. “No. The storm is turning into a blizzard … I don’t want you out in it. It’s too dangerous. I’ll go … the storm can’t hurt me.”

Martha started to object, then acquiesced. “All right, Clark. I’ll have dinner ready when you get home.”

“No.” Clark stepped around her, opening the door. “I won’t be back tonight. I need to be alone for a while. The Peacekeepers won’t bother you … Haver was right about that.”

“You’ll be staying at the farm?”

“Maybe … or maybe I’ll go somewhere else. I haven’t gone flying since … in a long time.”

Martha hugged herself against the blast of cold air from the open door. Shaking her head, she told him, “I don’t think you should be alone right now. Take care of the animals, then come home.”

“No. I need some time alone.” Clark’s voice was quiet but determined. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Clark …” Martha sighed in resignation. She didn’t want him taking off on his own, but she also knew that he was determined — and that there was nothing she could do to stop him.

“Mom, go warm up. I’ll take care of everything. Maybe I’ll stay at the farm, or maybe I’ll go somewhere else. I’ll be fine. Nothing can hurt me.”

“I moved the Kryptonite,” Martha told him, fearing that he would try to uncover the pit where it had been buried. She had taken as much as she could, but a few tiny pieces had flaked off, and she wasn’t sure she’d gotten rid of them all. She didn’t want him exposing himself to the residue. “I buried it in the wilderness outside the district fence,” she lied, hoping that if he did go looking for it, looking in the wrong place would give him a chance to realize that it was a bad idea.

“What?” Clark looked at her in confusion. “Why?” Then he realized why she had moved it. “Mom, no! You can’t really think that I … that I would … deliberately expose myself to it …”

Martha gave him a tired look. “At this point, Clark, I don’t know what to think.”

He shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not going to … to kill myself. I’m not going to leave you alone … and I’m not going to give Snow the satisfaction. I’ll be home in the morning, Mom. I promise.”

With that, Clark stepped out the door, closing it gently behind him.

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