ronan clark | district four | fin

"They all start off so innocent, don't they?"

The voice came from a man of about fifty. He had a well defined beard: a dark shade of gray, and a plump midsection. He spoke to a woman, just a few years younger.

"I suppose so."

He looked at the file in his hands again. The name read RONAN CLARK. There was a picture to go with it: a pretty boy with big blue eyes and a square chin. He was just one applicant in a sea of them. To be completely honest, the system of narrowing down the candidates for the job had become nothing more than a hassle. He had to request drug screens and evaluations of mental strength, and had to look deep into histories and find the smallest red flags, as well as look at their performance at the academy.

"Ronan Clark," he mumbled, "A bit of a risk, don't you think?"

The woman stood, her black hair bouncing at her shoulders.

"Aren't all of them risky, Mr. Pyrmont? At least this one has potential. Solid upbringing, flying colors in school... Though I do have to admit the sister's condition could be used as a hefty defense that he may not be strong enough."

The man ran his hand through thinning hair. "Ah, yes, the sister. How many people was it that she murdered?" The woman pursed her lips. "Well, they didn't charge her for murdering anyone. The charges were for involuntary manslaughter. There were three victims."

"Murder, manslaughter: I'm sure it didn't make a hell of a difference to the victims, Ms. Jennings."

"Well, she was dealt with either way."

"Fine." Mr. Pyrmont said after a moment of silence, "Call him in to tell him the news."

---

All Ronan Clark had done so far was attend the academy he was now going to instruct. He had never experienced the real world of peacekeeping, or traveled across Districts, or reported back to HQ in the Capitol, but it already felt like he had been living in this life for a century.

He had seen people burn out, people get fired. He had seen people have nervous breakdowns over final exams, and he had even seen a trial involving two of the underclassmen his senior year.

He had not yet lived as a peacekeeper, but he knew exactly how the life would go.

Discouraged personal relationships, lots of shitty hotel rooms, lots of punishment. He wondered, sitting in his desk, why he had ever wanted this to be his life, but then Stella's face popped up and it all came rushing back. He wanted this job so he could run away and never look back.

But for now, he was still stuck. He was supposed to teach Theories of Law 101 to the entire school because his final grade on the subject had been over 100%. He assumed it was why he had gotten one of the only in-District jobs, while the other 98% of the class had been sent off to the Capitol and District Two. It was required that he teach, unfortunately, before he was given his badge. At least he was still walking to the same place every morning at seven am, just as he had been for the past five years.

His students began to file in, and he was surprised to actually recognize a few: Brentley Gray and Mateus Marshall. In the same class.

Outstanding.

He also recognized on of the Mayor's son's. He looked down at his roster and found his information: PERCH, FANTOM. AGE: 15. He had most certainly gotten in under Daddy's good graces, but Ronan hoped he realized money didn't mean a thing in a place like this.

His blue eyes flashed back to Brentley.

Well, at least not always.

"Please, take a seat." he said, leaning against his desk.

"My name is Officer Clark, and this is Theories of Law: 101. I hope you are in the right place because, if not, you're stuck here for the rest of the year. Rule number one in this class: be precise. If you're showing up to the wrong courses on Day One, you probably need this class more than you think."

When no one spoke and he was convinced he hadn't just ruined his reputation by pretending to be more stoic than he truly was, he began to circle the room.

"I assume you all brushed up on the assigned literature?" he asked. When everyone replied "Yes." he decided to test the waters.

"Outstanding. Can you please tell me what the outcome was in the case of District Four versus Stella C, Mr.--" he studied the list of names, "--Marshall."

Mateus did not speak, so Ronan stopped just short of his desk.

"Please stand when giving an answer."

He stood, his cheeks burning a deep shade of red. Ronan waited through a total of ten seconds of silence before saying "Interesting," pretending to jot something down on his paper, and calling another name.

"Ms. Leto?"

A girl with dark hair and a round face stood immediately after being called. "In the case of District Four versus Stella C, the defendant had all three murder charges reduced to involuntary manslaughter when the defense argued that she was mentally unstable."

Ronan's eyes lit up. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to lead on that they were talking about his sister.

"And what did you think? About the defense's approach?"

Calypso's steely eye contact broke for just a moment.

"It's okay. Tell me what you think."

"I think they lied. I think they were doing what they could to keep her off death row."

(Me too.)

"And why do you think that, Ms. Leto?"

"It's what the evidence would suggest. According to all the records in the literature, she acted completely normal until the day the defense argued insanity. There were testimonies from people who had spoken to her after the murders saying that there was nothing out of the ordinary about her. Plus, all the evidence the defense produced was circumstantial at best. It is a miracle she wasn't sentenced to death."

If Ronan had believed in love, he thought he might have just found it.

"Very good." he said, and Calypso reclaimed her seat.

She was one to watch out for.

"The rest of you: be more like Ms. Leto."

---

Fantom Perch was making Ronan eat crow.

In the three weeks since the course had started, Ronon had decided to reserve the front row of seats for the students with the most potential. He had not meant for it to become such a big deal, but it lit a fire within everyone in the class. A front row seat in Theories of Law 101 had become the most coveted thing in the academy.

And just as easily as he could award the students a seat, he could take it away from them.

Calypso, of course, had claimed the first seat. She may as well have gotten a name plate for it, because Ronan was convinced she wouldn't ever let herself slip. Sophitia Kershaw was extremely annoying, but she had also been in the front row for quite some time. The third seat went to Brentley Gray who, mysterious as he may have been, was a very bright person.

And then there was Fantom.

Ronan had written Fantom off as a rich boy living off of Daddy's income from Day One. And yes, there was no way he had gotten into the academy and into a private class at age 16 without some strings being pulled.

But damn it, if he wasn't one of the brightest students in the entire room.

That day, he had outdone even Calypso.

After class, Ronan asked Fantom to stay behind.

"You're good." Ronan said, straightening a stack of papers, "I see a lot of potential in you." Fantom smiled. "Thank you."

"I asked you to stay behind bec--" he was interrupted when Ms. Jennings, the counselor of the academy, knocked on his door.

"I will talk to you tomorrow, Mr. Perch." he said, dismissing the boy, and then, "How can I help you?"

Ms. Jennings waited until Fantom was out of the room and she shut the door.

"It's your sister." she said, folding her arms over her chest. Ronan could tell she was not comfortable with whatever it was she was trying to say. (She made a better boss than a counselor, it seemed.)

"She escaped. From the Detention Center. The guards guess she disappeared sometime in the night."

Ronan pretended to be preoccupied with the papers on his desk. His fingers had gone numb and the corners of his vision were out of focus. Stella had done it again. She had broken the rules that his job made him enforce. And she was gone. Again.

Good, he thought, maybe she will stay gone. And then he stopped lying to himself and thought: I hope they never find her. It was complicated. She was a murderer who had gotten lucky, and now she was an escaped convict. But she was his sister. And he knew why she had done what she did. And he knew she was not completely alone in her actions.

But he knew she would try to find him. They only had each other: of course she would come to him first.

"They'll kill her." Ms. Jennings said. Her tone implied empathy, even though he knew there was none. Maybe she wasn't a terrible counselor after all.

"If they find her, they'll kill her, Ronan."

"Thank you for letting me know."

He opened the door for her to leave then closed it just as soon as she was out of the way.

---

She had been drinking. It was essentially all she did since the mansion. Brentley, Perdita, and Aine would come sometimes. They were Brentley's friends, not hers, but she enjoyed the company. That night, she was alone.

She looked at her ticket and smiled. She certainly had it covered. People had died for the money Scar had. Well, she had some of it. The other survivors had gotten their equal shares as well.

He sat down two chairs away, and she knew instantly she wanted him. His blue eyes, the jawline of a saint, and a physique that made her pulse race: he was positively gorgeous. And, as it so happened, Scar was good at getting what she wanted.

"Hi there, cutie. I'm Scar." She pulled all of her black waves to one shoulder, stretching out her neck in the process.

When he looked at her but did not reply, she said: "What brings you here?" He shook his head slightly. "Alcohol." After a few moments of quiet, he looked at her again and said, "What about you? What brings you here? Rough day?"

Scar smiled, red lips drawn apart and white teeth shining underneath.

"Or, maybe I was hoping I would find someone like you."

He grinned this time, and shook his head some more. She grinned back.

"You get right to the point, don't you?" he said, swallowing the last of his drink.

"Oh, honey. I don't have to rush. I've got all. night. long."

He stood and claimed the seat right next to her, much closer now than before.

"Seriously. What puts you at a bar on a Tuesday night in the middle of January? What's the secret?"

She pursed her lips. "Secret?" she asked, and he nodded absently.

He was a sharer. Too bad, she had really been sold until then. Of course, he was still gorgeous. She pursed her lips.

"Fine. You've heard of the offshore murders, right? Reginald Black?"

The boy nodded, leaning in a bit.

"Well, I knew him. And the others."

He squinted at the ceiling, then at her.

"You weren't there were you?"

She smiled. He was cute, but he wasn't ready for her crazy just yet. "No." she lied, "My family just frequented the garden parties he hosted."

"Do you think they'll find the killer?" he asked. She frowned. "Why do you keep asking so many questions?" He frowned back. "Just trying to keep up a conversation."

He was lucky he was cute. And she better have gotten her reward.

"I hope they do."

He looked down at the floor.

"Who do you think... You know?"

She cleared her voice. "My guess is gardener boy. Total creep. And like, get this: He wasn't ever a suspect in the initial investigation. He had an alibi that checked out, though, which would have to mean two killers. But enough about that."

She grabbed his shirt collar.

"Let's get out of here."

---

He had done worse things to get information, and apparently, he was right to look into the offshore murders. There were some things that simply did not add up, and he could not help wondering if it was all a cover-up. If so, he was treading on dangerous ground. He would have done well to keep a close eye on this one.

Three unsolved mysteries: his sister, the drug bust, and the cover-up. Three answers. Three truths. And none of them had been brought to light. The next time he saw his students, he would enlist their help. He couldn't ask the professionals, because there was obviously some things awry within the system.

Three crimes. Three answers. He would solve them on his own if he had to, but he would make sure the fog was lifted.

No matter what.