Chapter Twenty-Three
Rachel was sitting on the front porch of his house when Clark returned to Victor’s Village. He stopped short at the sight of her, unsure of whether he was glad to see her or whether he would have preferred putting off this confrontation until a later time — a much later time.
“Uh … Rachel … um … hi.” Clark walked slowly up the steps. “Ah … have you been waiting long?”
Rachel shook her head. “I just got here a few minutes ago. I thought you might be with your parents, but I decided to wait a little while and see if you showed up here.”
“Well, I
do live here … actually, the Capitol makes me live here. It really isn’t my choice.” Clark hesitated a moment before going on, “I visited with my parents earlier this morning, helped them with the chores. They’ll be here in about half an hour or so — we’re all going to the Victory luncheon. I … I’d invite you, but … the guest list is pre-selected, and I’m not allowed to invite anyone …”
“It’s okay,” Rachel assured him, though she looked disappointed. “I’ll see you at the dinner this evening, won’t I?”
“Yeah … yeah, that would be nice. Um … would you like to come in?”
Rachel nodded, standing as she did. Clark lifted a flowerpot, picking up the key. “This place actually has locks on the doors. Can you believe it?”
“Lots of places in town do, though people rarely use them except to lock businesses up,” Rachel pointed out.
“Yes, but … I’m not used to it. There are no locks on the farm.”
“There’s none on the Harris farm, either,” Rachel agreed, “but I guess the Capitol thinks you have something to protect.”
“I guess.” Stealing in District 9 was punishable by death, even for the most minor infractions, though the penalty was seldom carried out. In the small, close-knit community, most thefts were done out of desperation, and most victims opted to call the crime borrowing, if it was something that could be returned, or a trade, if it was something where the debt could be worked off. The Peacekeepers usually complied with the wishes of the victim — executing someone was a sure way to turn the community against them, and people could make life difficult for those they had turned against, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. The rare executions that did take place were usually carried out by Peacekeepers from outside the community.
As far as Clark was concerned, if someone was desperate enough to steal from him, he would say that he had given the item to the thief, thus avoiding the whole issue. He had no desire to see anyone die over a bit of food or a few coins — or even larger items.
Clark opened the door and let Rachel inside. “I wanted you and Pete and Lana to see the house last night, but I guess you had things to do at home.”
Rachel looked away from him, shuffling her feet uncomfortably. “I actually didn’t want to talk to you in front of the cameras. Pete and Lana … well …”
“They think I was cheating on you, don’t they? They’re mad at me because of Lois.”
“I think that’s part of it,” Rachel admitted. “There’s other things, too.” She stopped, and started looking around worriedly. “There aren’t any cameras here, are there?” she asked quietly.
“No,” Clark told her. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went all around and looked. Just don’t say anything that might be construed as rebellion in the downstairs bathroom.” He gestured to a closed door down the hallway. “It’s bugged.”
Rachel looked at him oddly, then shrugged. She didn’t understand why anyone would put a listening device in a bathroom, but the Capitol was known for being strange.
Clark turned toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to drink — some coffee, maybe?”
“Sure … coffee would be nice.”
Rachel sat at the kitchen table while Clark examined the coffee maker, trying to figure out how it worked. Many of the kitchen devices were new to him.
Finally, when he had it figured out and the coffee was brewing, Clark took a package of cookies from a cabinet and set some on a plate, setting the plate in the middle of the table. He sat down across from Rachel and looked at her, not sure what to say.
“Rachel, I —“ he began.
“Clark —“ Rachel started at the same time.
“Go ahead,” Clark told her.
“Clark … you were asking about Pete and Lana. I think they are a little bit upset with you because of Lois — I told them that I’d promised to wait for you if you made it home. That’s only part of it, though.” Rachel looked down, taking a cookie and nibbling on it absently. “We … none of us really expected you to come home. You’re strong, but you’re also a nice person, a decent person — and no one decent ever wins the Hunger Games. We thought you might try to help someone and get yourself killed, because you’ve never been able to see someone in trouble without wanting to help.”
“And then it turned out I wasn’t as nice or decent as you thought,” he challenged.
Rachel looked uncomfortable. “We were surprised when you killed that boy. Even though it was the Games, no one thought of you as a killer. And then …”
“And then I did something I shouldn’t have done, something that would get me hanged for murder here.” Clark stood, unable to stay still. Striding over to the coffee maker, he poured two cups, then brought them back to the table. Rachel watched as he went through the cabinets and refrigerator, looking for milk and sugar. In truth, he already knew where everything was, but sitting still and facing Rachel at the moment was more than Clark could handle.
“It’s not illegal to kill someone in the Games,” Rachel pointed out. “You have to do it to stay alive.”
“But I didn’t
have to kill him,” Clark replied. “I didn’t mean to, either. It was an
accident —
one that shouldn’t have happened. You’re afraid of me now, aren’t you?” he went on. “You and Pete and Lana … I used to be someone you could trust, but you can’t anymore.”
“Clark, no. We still trust you. It’s just … none of us is sure what to
say to you. You’ve been away … not away for a long time, only a few weeks … but what we saw you go through in the Games … nobody’s quite sure what to say to you now. Everybody’s seen what a mess our two older victors are, and we didn’t know what you’d be like now that you’re back. We’re not afraid of you, Clark. We just … don’t know what to say,” she finished with a dispirited air.
Clark set a cup of coffee in front of Rachel and went back to lean against the counter, staring into his own cup. “Maybe you
should be afraid of me,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“Maybe you should be afraid of me,” he told Rachel more clearly. “I’m not the naïve, innocent farm boy whose name was drawn from the Reaping bowl three weeks ago. I’m a victor now, and to become victor, I had to do things I never thought I’d do. I found out that I’m capable of things I never thought possible.”
Clark had always tried to do the right thing, especially after his strange abilities began to develop and it became clear that he could do a great deal of damage if he wasn’t careful. He’d never wanted to hurt anyone, and had always tried to use his abilities for good, even if he had to do things in secret. He’d taken pride in the fact that he wasn’t what the unknown people who had created him had intended — he was sure that, like most muttations, he had been intended as a weapon. Instead, his unknown creators had somehow lost him, leaving him to be raised by two kind, decent people who had taught him to be caring and compassionate, and to do what he could to make life better for those around him.
Now, everything had changed. A week earlier, he had naively thought that he might make it through the Hunger Games without killing anyone. Now, two people were dead at his hands, and though Lysander’s death had been an accident, Lois’s had not. He had frozen her to end her suffering, but a mercy killing was still a killing.
Clark no longer trusted himself as he had before. He couldn’t completely control everything in his life, and when he got careless or angry, he could be very dangerous. Because of him, two kids were dead, and their families and friends had been left to grieve over them. Though he doubted the scientists who had designed him knew it, he had turned out as dangerous as they had hoped. The difference was, he had a conscience, so he knew what he had done was wrong. He didn’t know if this knowledge would be enough to stop him from harming people in the future, though — not with Snow’s threats hanging over him, and not with his own uncertainty that he would do what was right if he had to make a tough decision.
Clark looked up as Rachel stood and came to lean against the counter next to him. “You did what you
had to,” she told him quietly. “We’ve all seen the Games.” This time she pronounced it with a sneer, almost as an epithet. “Year after year, kids kill each other to survive. They don’t have a choice.
You didn’t have a choice. But you’re
home now, and you don’t have to fight to stay alive. It’s over, and now you can get back to normal. You don’t have to be like your mentors. They let themselves fall apart, even though winning meant they had everything they could ever want.”
“I don’t think they
let themselves fall apart,” Clark told her. “Being in the Games isn’t like watching them on television. Even though you know two people — people who usually die — you aren’t a part of it. You don’t have to fear for your own life, and you don’t have to live with the knowledge that if you live, your district partner — and anyone else you’ve come to know and like — is going to die,” he said with a catch in his throat. “Next year, I’ll escort two more kids to the Games, where at least one, and probably both, will die.”
“I’ve known every District 9 tribute who has been in the Games during my life — at least in passing,” Rachel told him. “I know that it hurts to see them die.”
“It’s not the same. You don’t spend those few days between the Reaping and the Games getting to know them, knowing that you’ll have to face their families when the Games are over and you escort their bodies home. I went to see the Rasens this morning. I tried to help Becky, to keep her alive, and I couldn’t. She didn’t even make it long enough to step off her launch plate. Now her family is suffering because she’s gone. I gave them some money for food, but it can’t make up for the fact that they’ve lost their daughter. When they see me, they see someone who lived while their child died — and every year after this, more families are going to see that. They’re going to see another mentor who couldn’t bring their children home.
“When I go on the Victory Tour in six months, all those families of this year’s tributes are going to have to see the boy who survived while their children died. They’ll have to present me with gifts — plaques and flowers and such — all the while knowing that I’m only alive because their children are dead. Lysander’s family will have to look me in the eye and pretend to be happy about my victory, even though I killed him. I’ll have to face Lois’s family —“
Unthinkingly, Clark tightened his grip around his coffee cup. It imploded, shards of ceramic and hot coffee flying everywhere. “Damn!” he swore. “Damn, damn,
damn!”
Rachel gasped in surprise, jumping out of the way. “Clark, are you okay?” She reached for his hand, wondering if he’d cut himself.
To her surprise, he yanked his hand away, not letting her see it. “I’m fine,” he said abruptly.
Rachel gave him a hurt look. He shook his head, looking at her. “Are you okay? Did you get cut? Did the coffee burn you?”
“No … I’m okay. Some of the coffee got on my shirt, but it’ll wash.” She touched the worn cotton fabric.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Clark told her.
“No.” It was Rachel’s turn to be abrupt. “It’s fine.” She looked at him as he picked up the shards, noting with some confusion that the sharp edges didn’t seem to bother him at all. “Clark, be careful. You’ll cut yourself.”
Clark dropped the shards into the waste bin, then wiped up the spilled coffee. “I’m okay. My hands are so callused that not much can get through them.”
Rachel looked at her own callused hands. She, too, had grown up on a farm and had tough hands because of it, but she would have been leery about touching the sharp edges of the broken ceramic. Then again, Clark did sometimes seem to be stronger and tougher than one might expect — traits that undoubtedly had helped him win the Games.
Clark rinsed out the dishrag and turned to face Rachel again. “I think there may have been a hairline crack in that cup,” he said. “I didn’t expect it to break.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t squeeze fragile things,” she suggested. Clark looked a bit uncomfortable, so she changed the subject. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Clark, about Lois —“
“It wasn’t what you think,” Clark interrupted her. “It wasn’t a tragic love story. We were friends — nothing more,” he said defensively.
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Really? It was all just an act?”
“No … it wasn’t an act. We really became … uh … were friends. We did work to keep each other alive — but it wasn’t love.”
“Did Lois know that?”
“Of course. Didn’t you see when she called me her best friend?”
“And then she kissed you.”
“She was dying!”
“You didn’t kiss that other girl when she was dying!”
“Mayson? No … she didn’t want to kiss me. I helped her because I didn’t want to see her suffer.”
“But you did kiss Lois.”
“She kissed me!” He was starting to be irritated at her insistence.
“I didn’t notice you objecting!”
Clark couldn’t argue with that, so he just crossed his arms and avoided Rachel’s eyes.
“Clark … when I promised to wait for you, I did it because I thought there was something between us.”
“You didn’t think I’d come home, though. It wasn’t a promise you were likely to have to keep.”
Clark immediately knew that he’d said the wrong thing. He barely moved in time to keep Rachel from injuring herself when she slapped him. “I meant every word of it!” she shouted. “Clark, I thought we had something — a relationship, an understanding!”
Clark stepped away from her, rubbing his cheek, though it didn’t hurt. “I did, too,” he admitted. “I wondered where our relationship might go. I thought it might turn into more than friendship.” He turned back to look at her. “I didn’t make you any promises, though.”
“You didn’t tell me not to wait for you.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” Clark had indeed considered a future with Rachel, though he’d known that it would be difficult. His extraordinary abilities made him different from everyone else, and he would have been hard-pressed to hide them from a wife. Even if he could have hidden most of them, his occasional sleep-floating would have been noticed eventually. It happened most often when he was worried or under stress, and it was impossible to completely avoid those things.
“You know what makes it even worse, Clark? A lot of people thought you and I would get married someday, but after they saw you in the arena with Lois, and heard the commentators talking about the ‘doomed romance,’ they looked at me with
pity. I don’t know if there is anything worse than pity. They felt sorry for me because you were with another girl. I even overheard someone say that I wasn’t enough for you! No, actually, inadequacy has to be worse than pity!”
“Rachel, that’s not true. You’re wonderful. You’re beautiful, you’re smart … and you’ll make a great wife for some lucky man.”
“But not you.”
“No … but
not because of Lois.”
“There’s
someone else?!” Rachel looked at him in disbelief.
“No. There isn’t anyone else. I … I’m never going to marry
anyone.”
“You’re a victor. You can have your pick of women!”
“I know, and if I did intend to marry, I’d choose you … if you wanted me.”
“So why —“
“I went to the tribute cemetery earlier today to visit Becky’s grave. Haver was there and I helped him put flowers on the graves of all the tributes who have died since he became victor. The last flower was for his district partner, Edith.” At Rachel’s confused look, he went on. “Edith was the daughter of this district’s first victor, John Dennings. She was the youngest of three children — and her brother and sister are also buried in the tribute cemetery. The
Capitol took them
all. They love legacy tributes, and so the Reaping was rigged so they would be in the Games.
“Rachel, I can’t do it. I can’t bring children into the world so the Capitol can kill them for entertainment. I couldn’t bear seeing them born and raising them, and then escorting them to their deaths. I just can’t do it — and I won’t do that to you. Your children will be eligible for the Reaping, but if they’re selected, it will be by chance. It won’t be a foregone conclusion like it would be if
I was their father.”
Clark turned away, running a hand through his hair nervously. “I won’t put any other woman through that, either. My parents lost three babies after they had me, and I saw how hard it was on them. Imagine how much harder it would have been if they’d had a chance to raise them and get to know them, and then lost them. They were devastated when I was Reaped — I was the only child they had left. And even though I made it home, it’s not the same. I’m not the boy they said good-bye to at the Justice Building three weeks ago. I’ve changed, and they noticed it just as much as you and Pete and Lana did.”
He turned back to her, wincing at the sight of the tears she was trying to hide. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but he had just the same. “It’s not about Lois, Rachel. It has nothing to do with her. She was just a friend … and she’s … dead.” He walked toward her, stopping when she put a hand out to keep him away. “You’re a great person, Rachel. I wish things were different. If I hadn’t been Reaped …”
“But you were, and things are different. I knew things had changed when I saw you in the Games, but I kept hoping that if you came back, it would be okay. It’s not, though. You’re a victor now, with a whole different life — and your heart belongs to someone else.”
Clark sighed, following Rachel to the door. “Rachel, please believe me. Lois has nothing to do with this. She was a good friend, one I was glad to defend, but that’s all she was.”
Rachel turned back to him as she opened the door. “You know, Clark, I’d be a lot more willing to believe you about Lois if you believed it.”
“What?”
“You say she was just a friend, but the way you look when you talk about her says otherwise.”
“Rachel, I —“
“Good-bye, Clark.”
“I’ll see you tonight, won’t I? At the Victory dinner?”
“I’ll be there, but you won’t see me. I’ll tell Pete and Lana that you want to see them, though.”
“We’re still friends, aren’t we, Rachel?”
Her mouth trembled as she turned away from him. “No, Clark. I don’t think so.”
She hurried down the steps and to the gate, closing it quietly behind her. Clark watched as she walked down the road, and in all probability, out of his life, his heart breaking as he listened to her sobs.
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