Chapter Text
Jesper
July 30th, 68 ADD
District 11, Panem
The day the Capitol hangs his mother, Jesper Fahey is 11 years old.
It’s a hot, sticky July day, the kind that makes him want to stick his head in the icebox for a chance at a cold breeze, where even before the day really begins all Jesper wants is to lie on the front porch with a paper fan and sweat the day away like they're rich. Ma always laughs at him when he does that, scolding him for opening up the icebox when they don’t need anything out of it and melting everything in there and reminding him of all of the chores he’s leaving undone. It’s the kind of day where the air is so heavy that you feel like you’re swimming through it, where the work in the fields is slow and even the mockingjays are too hot to sing, let alone the people working. Where the only noise is the droning of cicadas and rustling of the leaves blown around by the warm wind that doesn’t do a thing to cool you down. The type of day where the ceiling fans creak and strain but only wind up pushing that same hot air around and the mosquitos are the only ones enjoying themselves as they gorge on blood. The kind of day where, from right when you wake up, you can tell nothing good is going to happen.
The Peacekeepers pound hard on the door as the sun is starting to rise, making the old wooden door, just fixed from when they burst it down the first time, shake in its frame. Despite the heat Jesper has curled up in his parents’ bed with his Da, something he hasn't done since he was six, both of them entirely unable to sleep. He’s had nightmares all week, when he has been able to doze, ever since the Peacekeepers burst down the door and dragged Ma away. They’ve been under house arrest ever since, with two Peacekeepers stationed outside the door of their tiny little house at all hours of the day, telling them that this was coming.
They haven’t heard anything from Uncle Pascal and Auntie Amaya or anyone else, though his cousin Leoni was allowed through to bring them some food and told them about crackdowns all through the District, or at least their part. She only spoke directly to Jesper, glaring at Da the whole time and barely acknowledging his presence. It was such a change from her usual sunny ways that Jesper asked her if she was sick but she said she was fine and he hadn’t asked anything more. Da’s been dragged off half the days for interrogation and come back with bruises, leaving Jes stuck in the house bored, alone, and sick with worry. Waiting for today to come.
“You have an hour,” One of them calls through the door after pounding on it a few more times to make sure they’re awake, voice gruff. “No excuses.”
Jesper lets out a dry sob, burying his face in his Da’s shoulder. He doesn’t have any real tears left. He’s all cried out. He wants to pretend this is just a bad dream, wants to smell breakfast cooking and hear his Ma singing like it’s an ordinary summer day. He wants the heat to break. “Come on, Jes.” Da presses a kiss to his hair, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Time to get up now, come on.”
Jesper shakes head, refusing to his open his eyes. The longer he keeps them closed, the longer he can pretend. The sheets beneath him are sweat-stained and he’s kicked the blankets all the way to the foot of the bed, the way he usually sleeps in the summer. Da sighs and slides his shoulder out from under Jesper’s sweaty cheek, kissing him on the head again as he stands up. “Alright,” he sighs heavily. “Five more minutes. But then you have to get up, okay?” Jesper doesn’t answer, rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face into the mattress and inhaling the familiar scent of the Spanish moss stuffing. He’s on Ma’s side of the bed, but it doesn’t smell like her anymore. He buries his face deeper in the mattress, searching for any trace of the scent of smoke and metal.
“Jesper, get up and wash your hands, please.” Da must be making breakfast, though Jesper doubts either of them has much of an appetite. He can hear the clattering of their metal dishes being set down on the wooden table and the hiss of air as Da lights the stove. “I need you to set the table.” His voice is rough, trying to sound like it’s a normal morning but failing miserably. When Jesper sits up and opens his eyes, he sees his hands shaking as he slices bread.
“I’m not hungry anyway.” Jesper rubs the sleep from his eyes as he stands up from the bed. The rough wooden floor of the cabin is solid under his bare feet, worn smooth over the past eleven years. How is he supposed to eat breakfast, on a day like this? His stomach is all twisted up in knots. Lighting the stove is only making the house hotter, and he wants Da to stop slicing bread before he cuts himself. He thinks longingly of the separate kitchen in Auntie Amaya and Uncle Pascal’s house, the one his grandparents used to live in before they died and left it to his aunt and uncle. Ma used to live there with them, before she married his Da and moved out further into the fields, near the western border of the District where more workers were needed. They used to go visit every winter holiday when he was young, less so when he got older. It’s amazing how much cooler putting the stove in a separate building makes the house, but theirs is too small and building a new outbuilding would be too expensive and take too much time. His parents had always talked about doing it someday, still, when Jes would be old enough to help.
“I know.” Da sets the knife down and gives him a tired look. The water on the stove for tea is starting to boil. His grey eyes, the same color as Jesper’s, have dark bags under them. Those probably match now too. “I’m not either. But you need to eat, okay? It’s going to be a long, hot day and we’re both going to need our strength.”
Jesper gets up and washes the sweat from his hands and face, using the water in the cracked porcelain pitcher on the chest of drawers. It’s warm, of course, everything is, but it makes him feel a little cleaner. Setting the table provides a bit of a routine, something to do with his restless hands. He catches himself before he can set a third place. He’d done it the first night after Ma was arrested, without thinking. It was the first time he’d ever seen his Da cry.
The food tastes like ashes even though Da didn’t burn it this time. He drags his fork along his metal plate as he eats, making an ugly scraping noise. Da sighs, rubbing at his temples with an exhausted look on his face, and Jesper sets his fork down guiltily.
The Reaping was only a few weeks ago, and normally he wouldn’t wear his Reaping clothes—a yellow shirt and a pair of pants that used to belong to his dad, as well as a new pair of shoes—until the next year, if he hadn't outgrown them by then. He's been growing like a weed lately, his uncle says. Today, however, they’re laid across his unused bed, waiting to Jesper to get dressed. Even looking at them makes him feel sick. He gets dressed anyways.
The heat gets even worse once they open the door. It’s humid out here, enough moisture in the air that they’re practically swimming through it. Jes feels sweat bead up again on his forehead instantly. He glances up at the sky, hoping to see storm clouds on the horizon. If it rains, the humidity might break. If it rains maybe they’ll change their minds and just let Ma go.
The sky is bright blue, only whisps of white clouds floating overhead. No matter which direction he turns on the porch, he can’t see any clouds that might indicate rain is coming. The sun is already halfway up the sky, beating down fiercely. He thinks about going back in for his hat, to keep the sun from his eyes, give him a chance to linger, but a Peacekeeper grabs his arm before he gets the chance, glaring down at him with narrowed blue eyes.
“No need for that,” Da says, only a few feet behind him, resting his hand on Jesper’s shoulder and pulling him back a little. After a second, the Peacekeeper lets go. He can still feel pale fingers digging into his arm and looks down at it, seeing marks that’ll probably turn into bruises. Jesper leans back against his Da, not daring to look at the Peacekeeper in the eye. “We’re coming along now. We can walk on our own.”
“He was going back inside.” The Peacekeeper drums his fingers on the butt of his rifle. Jesper swallows nervously. That’s never a good sign. “I have my orders same as you, Fahey. No one misses this.”
“We’re not going to miss it.” Da’s voice is low and calm; he uses the hand he’s got on Jesper’s shoulder to rub his back. He wants to turn and bury his face in his side like a little kid, but he’s too scared to move. “We’re all good, right, Jes?”
Jesper nods, heart in his throat and stares at the warped wooden floor of the porch. He dragged his foot on the ground, getting sawdust on his new, too-tight shoes. He’s not used to wearing shoes in the summer, except for a few hours on Reaping Day. They’re pinching his feet. “Yes sir.” He whispers softly.
The Peacekeepers follow them as they walk down the road, hands still on their rifles. The District is quiet in a way it’s never been before. Shutters are drawn closed and front porches are deserted. The dirt road is so dry that dust blows up around his feet with every step. It hasn’t rained in weeks. Jesper’s best pants are getting covered in red clay. Good. He hopes they’re ruined.
His aunt, uncle, and cousin are waiting for them at the end of the road. Uncle Pascal remembered his hat, and when he sees Jesper’s flushed and sweaty face he takes it off and puts it on his head, helping block some of the sun from his eyes. “You want some water, Jes?”
He looks like Ma—they have the same long arms and legs, the same dimples in their cheeks, though Uncle Pascal isn’t smiling now. Jesper turns his face away, so he doesn’t have to look at him, and shakes his head.
Leoni grabs his hand. Hers is sweaty just like his, still a little bigger—he grew recently, and Da thinks he’s going to be tall, like Ma and Uncle Pascal, but Leoni is four years older and still taller. Her brown eyes are exhausted, ringed by Jesper’s and his Da’s same dark circles. She’s got a new bracelet on her left wrist, too big for her and nearly falling off. He knows it. It’s his Ma’s, a woven grass bracelet made for her by Auntie Amaya when they were his age.
“Don’t look away,” she tells him, leaning down a little to whisper in his ear. “You can’t look away, Jesper. You don’t have to see it, but you can’t look away.”
He doesn’t understand the difference and he wants to ask her what she means, but the truck pulls up before he gets a chance, engine rattling and thick black exhaust spewing from the tailpipe. Jesper’s never ridden in a truck before—if they ever needed to go anywhere, they walked. Only the mayor and the Peacekeepers drive anywhere, them and the Capitol people when they come out twice a year. If anything else was happening, he’d probably be too excited about the whole experience to focus. Now he just feels sick. The exhaust blowing into his face makes him cough, and Da wraps his arms around his shoulders, letting Jes press his face into his side. He wishes he wasn’t too big to pick up. He really, really wants to be held right now.
The road to the Justice Building is bumpy and the Peacekeeper driving hits all the bumps and potholes, almost on purpose. Jesper’s stomach bounces along with the truck and he wraps his arms around it, trying not to vomit all over everyone’s best clothes. No one's going to let them go home to change if he does. Auntie Amaya rubs his back in small circles. He can feel the warmth of her hand through his shirt. Her hand is smaller than Ma’s and she doesn’t smell like her—Ma always smells like metal and smoke, from her shifts in the packing plants. Auntie Amaya smells like sunshine and freshly-washed linen, like she spends long days out in the fields. “Just look out the window, baby, that’ll make your stomach feel better,” she whispers softly to him, pressing her cheek against the top of his head.
Jesper looks out the window of the truck and sees fields rolling by. They’re empty. He’s never seen empty fields before, except on Reaping Day and winter holiday and the one time they got hit by a hurricane. It makes him uncomfortable, adding to the feeling something terrible is about to happen. The bushes are heavy with the weight of unpicked blueberries. Weeds are sprouting up around the beds of onions. Tomorrow the Peacekeepers will push them harder than ever, make up for losing a day. It happens after every Reaping Day and every big storm. They’ve already been pushing hard this week, knowing today was coming up—at least that’s what Leoni said. Jesper wasn’t out of the house to know. If it was a regular day, a regular week, he would be out there from sundown to sunup, no breaks for school a few times a week until September. His back hurts and his fingers cramp thinking about it, but he’d rather by there than here. A thousand times over.
There’s a little more life in the District as they drive into town—people are walking down the streets, heading for the Justice Building like they’ve been told. Stores here are built up around the Justice Building, the center of the District—a butcher, for the Peacekeepers to get their meat, a cobbler, where Jesper’s too-tight shoes came from, the general store and other stores he’s never had a reason to be in. His school isn’t here, though the upper school is down one of the side streets. He’s only been down here a few times, most recently when Leoni’s name got drawn in the pre-Reapings this year. She hadn’t been called in the end and Uncle Pascal had called it a false alarm, said they should all thank the Saints that that was the worst that happened.
Ma had worried though, even after, whispering to his Da and Leoni and Auntie Amaya and even Seeder, who had come to visit with her once they got the news. Jesper had wanted to know what they were talking about and why the Victor was involved, but she shooed out of the house and threatened to make him go pick out a switch if she caught him eavesdropping. She had sounded like she meant it, so he obeyed, as curious as he was. Things had seemed to settle down.
A week after the Reaping and Leoni’s name not being called, Peacekeepers broke down the door and dragged her away. ‘
The Justice Building is just as he remembers it from a few weeks ago—carved out of cool white stone, with columns and a front porch, just like all the other ones he’s seen on TV watching Reapings over the years. It’s bigger than all the other buildings on the square, towering over them and blocking out the sun beating down. Under other circumstances, Jesper might be grateful for the shade. Today he wants to be as far away from the whole area as he can.
They aren’t there to go to the Justice Building though. The truck stops right out front, letting them off by the steps where a crowd’s already gathering. It’s a lot like the crowd that was here on Reaping Day—quiet, wearing their best clothes, with parents keeping their kids close, everyone looking at the Peacekeepers with wary and resentful eyes. Today there’s no Capitol audience watching, and they’ve got their hands tight on their whips and pistols, strolling through the crowd and practically daring anybody to try and make trouble, ready and eager to handle anybody that does.
Today the crowd’s facing backwards, away from the Justice Building, and is bigger than it was on Reaping Day. They don’t have Capitol techs to turn on the screens on the side streets, so everyone’s been crowded into the main square, to make sure they all get a view. There are people on the steps of the Justice Building, people hanging from the columns to get a better view, people looking through the windows of the stores. They all face the center of the square, where the dirt road comes in.
There’s a whipping post there, the center of the square, though Jesper has never seen it used. Not for a lack of whippings in Eleven—he’s seen plenty, had one or two minor ones himself, but they’re so common it’s rarely worth the time and trouble to drag whoever’s in trouble all the way to the Justice Building. It’s only used for the most serious, official crimes, maybe half a dozen a year. He can see dried blood on it from the last one, though he doesn’t know when it was. He's never had a reason to pay much attention to these things before.
The stocks are actually rarely used, even though they’re right next to the whipping post and shiny with polish for the occasion. Putting someone in the stocks is taking them out of the fields for the day and risk putting everyone on their crew behind. It has to be something bad for the Peacekeepers to risk their quotas like that and it hasn’t happened for as long as Jesper can remember, though the old folks always have stories. They say that they used to use them a lot more right after the Dark Days, when the crackdowns were worst.
In the other squares he’s seen on TV, watching Reapings at mandatory viewing, the whipping post and stocks come as a part of a standard set of three, with a gallows to complete them. There are no gallows in Eleven. When someone’s got to be hanged, they do it from the tree, growing right at the entrance to the square for that very purpose.
There’s a noose hanging from it now, and a block below. A whole squad of Peacekeepers surrounds it, hands clutching tight to their rifles. It’s tall, taller than most of the buildings in the square, but not as tall as the Justice Building. The leaves are bright green, as wide as his hand, but the moss has been stripped, piled on the dirt below like a grey cloud sunk to the ground so that it doesn't get in the way of what's going to be done.
The air is heavy and humid, only getting worse as it gets closer to noon and the crowd presses in on each other. The noises of the crowd blend with the cicadas humming, getting louder and louder to the point where it starts to hurt Jesper's ears. He should probably be hungry—he’d be thinking about lunch right about now, any other day—but his stomach is all twisted up from the situation and the car ride. The Peacekeepers force them to the front of the crowd, only feet from the tree. They’ll have the best view in the whole District.
Jesper’s stomach twists, and he thinks he might throw up. He grabs Da’s hand as tightly as he can and whispers, frantically, knowing it won’t make a difference, “We have to leave, Da, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“I know.” Da rubs circles in his palm. His voice is thick, choked with tears. Jesper can feel his other hand, the one he has on his shoulder, shaking. “I know, Jesper, I know.” He doesn’t try and make him feel better, say something about how it’ll be okay, or it’s all going to be over soon. It isn’t. It won’t. It’s never going to be okay again.
Uncle Pascal, Ma’s brother, has his fists clenched, glaring at the tree so hard it looks like he’s trying to set it on fire. Jesper wishes he could. Wishes he'd burn the whole square to the ground. Auntie Amaya, Ma’s best friend, has her arms around Leoni’s shoulders, holding her back to her chest and resting her chin on her hair. She’s not looking at the tree—she’s staring at the ground, tears dripping slowly from her face and leaving small splashes on the red clay below. Leoni is playing with the bracelet—Ma’s bracelet—on her wrist, chewing at her lower lip. Jesper has never seen that type of anger on his cousin’s face before. Leoni’s always smiling, until now.
The clock on the Justice Building strikes noon. Uncle Pascal lets out a low moan, groping for Auntie Amaya’s hand. Da’s hand tightens on Jesper’s shoulder and he lets out a shaky exhale. Jesper feels his stomach drop to his feet. Leoni lifts her head up and glares full-force at the Peacekeepers, lips drawn back in a snarl. She looks like an entirely different person, one that frightens him a little. She looks, he realizes, a little like Ma. He's seen that same look of righteous anger on her face hundreds of times, only never in public.
A Peacekeeper captain—Jes can tell from the gold braid on his uniform and the smug expression on his face—steps forward. He gestures towards someone at the back of the crowd. Jesper hears the doors of the Justice Building creak open. He doesn’t want to look. He turns to look.
The crowd parts, everyone turning to look with him at another squad of Peacekeepers escorting his Ma down the steps. There’s a faint muttering, the crowd looking torn between fear and anger. Leoni has her fists clenched in the skirt of her pale blue dress, the same one she wore to the Reaping a couple weeks ago. Jesper squeezes Da’s hand as tightly as he can, scared that if he lets go Da won’t be able to stay on his feet. He can feel him swaying.
She looks almost the same as the day they arrested her, except for the bruises on her face. She’s wearing the same simple cotton dresses she had on that morning, a faded green that’s one of her favorites. Her hair is still in the Bantu knots she put in a few days before, not even messy. Jesper remembers sitting on his bed as she sat at the kitchen table with Auntie Amaya and Leoni, laughing and talking, long fingers just like his own pinning the buns in place. She brushed out his hair, afterwards, trimmed it. Showed him how to put the beads Leoni likes in her twists. Kissed him on the forehead and told him that she loved him, that he was precious, her blessing.
He doesn’t want to hear what the Peacekeepers have to say about her, see what’s going to happen next. He wants to put his hands over his ears, turn his head away, close his eyes, pretend this is all a bad dream. He knows it won’t work—his inner arms are black and blue from pinching himself all this week, trying to wake himself up. He remembers what Leoni said—you can’t look away, but you don’t have to see. He still doesn’t understand what she meant, not really. How can he not see? Ma is right in front of him, passing by where they’re standing. He wants to pull away from Da, run to her, wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her stomach like a baby. He wants to break down and sob, or start screaming, or both. He wants it all to stop.
The Peacekeeper captain clears his throat and begins to speak, and Jesper doesn’t do any of that. He stands still, like a statue, the stillest he's been in years, eyes and ears fully engaged, Da’s hand so tight on his shoulder it feels like his fingers are pressing against bone, Jesper’s own grip on his hand so tight there can’t be any blood left in it.
The sun glints off the polished stocks as he speaks. They couldn’t get the whipping post to the same level of shine. There’s too much blood on it. Jesper doesn’t even dare close his eyes to block out the ray of sun as it hits him. He hopes it blinds him, like Ma always says it will. If he’s blind they can’t make him watch no matter what they do.
The words all sound like the cicadas droning in the background till he says Ma's name. “The accused, Aditi Hilli, citizen of District Eleven, has been found guilty under Capitol law of treason, sabotage, and subversion,” the Peacekeeper captain reads from the paper in his hands. Ma tilts her chin up, not looking at him. Her eyes are searching the crowd instead. Her face tenses slightly when she sees Jes and Da right in front of her. She shakes her head, a tiny little motion. Jesper is still frozen. He's not sure he could move if he tried. “The punishment for these crimes is death, to be carried out by hanging.” The crowd of Peacekeepers behind him cheers. They’re the only ones. The District itself is so quiet, so still you could hear a pin drop. “The sentence will be carried out on this day, July 30th, in the 68th year after the Dark Days.” He rolls the paper back up and hands it to some assistant, then nods to the group of Peacekeepers standing by Ma.
Her hands are already tied behind her back but they check them anyways, tightening the ropes with a hard pull that makes Jesper wince. He can see a flash of pain in her eyes. Da takes a deep, shuddering breath behind him. The hand on Jesper’s shoulder has started shaking again. Or maybe it's still him. He can't tell.
Ma is tall, taller than his Da and a lot of people in the District. They’ve had to get a taller block, and pick a higher branch to hang her from. She climbs it when one of the Peacekeepers pokes his rifle into her back, head tilted down and giving him a look that’s full of scorn. She looks like a queen, a powerful ancient queen just like Da always said she was. She looks a thousand times better than all of them. She doesn’t look like a criminal, like a traitor or a subversive and she never will, not to Jesper, not to anyone who knows her, no matter what the Capitol says she is.
She’s tall, but they don’t use a longer rope.
You can’t look away, but you don’t have to see. Jesper wishes he could. Wishes he could separate his eyes and his brain, turn off his ears. There’s a dull buzzing in his ears, but not enough to block out the choking noises. His eyes fill with tears, but he can still see her face, turning purple, eyes bulging. Someone in the crowd vomits, and the smell burns his nose. He feels Da’s hand on his shoulder shaking, and it is, but not as badly as Jesper is. He can’t see Uncle Pascal or Auntie Amaya, but he can see Leoni out the corner of his eye, sick expression on her face and fists clenched so tight in the fabric of her dress that she’s ripped it. She doesn’t look like she’s following her own advice. How can they not see? It’s right in front of them, they’ve put it right in front of them, haven’t given them a choice.
Besides, if he doesn’t see, he doesn’t see Ma. So many people die for nothing in this world, Jesper, she’d told him once. And everybody’s going to die, at some point or another. The most important thing you can do, when you don’t have any other choice, is to make sure you die for something. Die right. Is this dying right? He doesn’t know. It’s dying for sure. He doesn’t want it to be for nothing. He watches.
He watches, with his stomach churning and his eyes filling with tears. He doesn’t look away. He sees it all.
Finally it ends, because everything has to end eventually, even nightmares like this. Jesper pinches himself subtly, through the fabric of his best shirt, giving himself one more chance to wake up. He doesn’t. He didn’t expect to.
The crowd starts to break up now that it’s done—no one wants to stay, worried about being caught up, tainted. Bored now, the Peacekeepers start talking among themselves. Da turns and pulls Jesper into his arms, holding him so tight he can’t breathe, and the tears come then, even though he thought he was all cried out a long time ago. He sobs until his chest hurts, until Da’s shirt is soaked through with his tears, until he literally makes himself sick and has to bend over to vomit. Da doesn’t let him go even when it gets on his shoes, rubbing his back and muttering his name, shaking all over, lips pressed to Jesper’s hairline, his own tears soaking into his hair.
They stay there, in the square, for a while. It’s too much to move. Jesper doesn’t think his legs will ever work again. They won’t get the body back, not while she’s a traitor. It hasn’t even been cut down yet, won’t be for a while. When it is, the Peacekeepers will take it and burn it, store the ashes in some basement of the Justice Building. Erase Aditi Hilli from existence.
“Colm,” a voice says, breaking the bubble of grief that surrounds them.
Jesper looks up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffling. Da keeps rubbing circles on his back, but he nods, acknowledging the Victor. “Seeder.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says, reaching out to grab his free hand. His pale fingers are trembling, and he pulls back. “Both of you.” She reaches down, cupping Jesper’s cheek and wiping away a stray tear. Her hand is warm. She has calluses on her fingers and palms, like Ma.
“We appreciate that,” Da says. His voice is flat, thick with tears. “But I should be getting Jesper home now.”
Seeder shakes her head, pulling her arms back and crossing them over her chest. “Colm, you know this isn’t over. Now you’ve been very brave, done everything you can and more, done things no one asked for, but you know this isn’t the worst they can do.” Her expression softens as she glances back down to Jesper, leaning against his Da’s side and watching them with wide eyes. “Send Jesper to me, at least. Let me train him, give him a chance. You know he’s going to need it, sooner or later.”
Da takes a step back, pulling Jesper, frozen like a statute, back with him. “No,” he says, choking on the word. “No,” he repeats. “I’m sorry, Seeder, but he’s staying far away from you. Far away from all of you. Aditi—” he swallows “—Aditi’s dead, now, and there’s no changing that. Jesper wasn’t involved, and I’m keeping it that way. That’s what’s going to keep him safe.” His hands are shaking. “That’s what I can do to keep him safe.”
Seeder’s face is soft and sad. She looks older than he knows she is. She has the same deep brown eyes as his Ma and half the District. “I understand,” she says, taking a step back, letting his Da wrap Jesper in his arms again. “When the time comes, though, Colm, know that I’ll do everything I can for him.” She nods at them again, turning to walk away, back to Victor’s Village.
Jesper raises a hand to his throat and feels a noose tightening around his own neck.