Nothing Personal

Smoke - 13

Daisuke was inside the house, crying. He didn't like thunder, it was too loud and he couldn't hear anyone coming. He'd hidden himself inside the wardrobe even though it was stuffed with clothes and too warm. Any minute someone was going to fling the door open, because what else was the storm for but to bring tributes closer together. And he'd done well so far, he knew that. Unless you counted that run-in with Pataya, which made him feel dizzy whenever he thought of it.

Eventually, after what must have been hours, the thunder rolled away, grumbling. Did that mean it had worked? There had to be someone nearby and he didn't dare to move in case they were in this house.

The little pop made him jump. It was right in the room, just in front of the wardrobe door. His hair stood on end. Someone was in there and didn't know that he was. What if they stayed? He'd have to wait until they were sleeping then creep out, but his muscles were cramping up because the wardrobe was so small and the clothes were making it too hot. But he would have to live with it. So he stayed curled up, waiting, listening.

Nothing.

He could hear birds still tweeting outside, but nothing in the room.

Very slowly, he uncurled himself and pushed open the door.

He hadn't seen the room properly when he'd run into it. Now he could, and it was a little bit creepy. It looked like it might have been a kid's room - so where was the kid now? - with brightly coloured wallpaper and trains on the bedspread. But it was tidy, almost obsessively neat. Not a single drawer in the unit was even slightly open. There were no clothes on the floor, no scribbles on the walls. Even the bed looked like it had never been slept in.

There was a little golden box squatting in the middle of the floor, with the number twelve on the side. Carefully, he crawled out of the wardrobe and prodded it.

Nothing happened.

It was quite heavy, like there was something inside, and now he noticed a note pinned to the top in hasty writing. He grabbed at it, glad for any kind of contact with the outside word. After all, he might not get back there.

'Daisuke,' it read, 'You're doing great, kiddo. We hope you appreciate this little gift; it was all we could afford right now. But we'll get some more soon, don't worry! We're expecting money through from a bet on you to make it to the final 13 any minute now! Hang on in there, we're right behind you! Juliet and the gurls' 

He folded it up and put it in his pocket, after reading it three times. Sponsors. He had sponsors. His first hope had been that it was from his parents, but he knew they didn't have writing like that. Still, someone cared. He could have cried with relief and tore open the packet.

It was a little packed lunch. Clearly Juliet and the gurls had done some snooping and found out what he liked from the chefs, because there was a little taster of all the things he'd eaten most of. A little salted bread roll, the District Four specialty. A sausage wrapped in pastry that flaked to the touch. A tiny pot of pasta and tomato sauce. They'd even remembered to provide a fork. He could use that as a weapon, if it came down to it. He wondered if they'd thought of that, what they looked like, how their voices sounded. How many there were, even.

"Thank you," he breathed. His stomach suddenly burst into life, growling at the delicious smell. He hadn't realised that he was hungry; he was so used to not eating anyway, but he was ravenous. He devoured the sausage roll, even snatching the flakes off his shirt. It was still warm. The air was lighter now it had rained and he could almost convince himself that he was having a picnic. Only without his family.

He missed them so much.

The two cannons he'd heard in the middle of the storm had gone off so soon after each other that Sebastian knew that it had to be the twins. Well, someone else had got to them instead. It had been going to happen somehow. The storm had finished, the last of the lightning vanishing into the distance. He'd watched it all from inside the house where he'd marked the number three. As soon as he'd seen the back door was open he knew they'd run for it so he'd taken refuge inside as the storm gathered, thinking about where they would have gone.