Chapter 19 James
James
Chapter 19
“What are you three doing here?” Warner takes one step into the room before coming to an abrupt stop.
The sight of him is so familiar it startles me; I haven’t really seen him in days, and sometimes I forget how much we look alike. It’s like staring into the wrong mirror. Our eyes are different colors and his hair is pure gold where mine is more of a bronzed mess, but there’s no mistaking our DNA. When I look at him, I see home.
Currently, the feeling is not mutual.
“What do you mean?” Kenji says to Warner, taking a pull on his straw. “It’s snack time. We always use this room for snack time.”
“Um, I thought we were supposed to be here,” says Winston. “Aren’t we supposed to be here?”
Warner’s exhale is slow and controlled. “No.”
“Oh.”
“Hey,” I say, nodding up at him.
Warner turns to look at me with a cool, inscrutable expression, and suddenly he’s not my oldest brother, my mentor, my role model, the guy I’ve been living with for ten years. Right now Warner embodies every inch of his reputation, and I swear my life flashes before my eyes.
Aaron Warner Anderson is a living legend.
Sometimes I forget how terrifying he can be. His eyes are a surreal pale shade of green, so piercing it’s sometimes difficult even to hold eye contact with him.
“Get up,” he says quietly.
My eyes widen. “Uh—what?”
“Now,” he says. “We’re leaving.”
“Leaving?” I look around. “But—”
“Yeah, I’m gonna get out of here,” says Adam, zipping up the backpack. “See you guys tomorrow?”
Kenji stands to give Adam a hug, clapping him on the back as he pulls away. “Hey, can you bring those fruit rolls tomorrow? The chewy ones with the jokes printed inside the wrapper?”
Adam grins. “Yeah.”
Winston shakes his empty juice box. “Kiss the kids for us. I’ll swing by around noon tomorrow. Tell Roman we’re building robots this weekend.”
“Will do,” says Adam, still smiling. “He’ll be thrilled.” He nods at Warner, then tosses him something. “As promised.”
Warner catches the offering, then looks up. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
“Hey, I didn’t know you liked jelly beans,” Kenji says, peering over his shoulder. “You’ve been holding out on us. You should join us for snack time—”
“They’re for my wife,” Warner says sharply.
“What? You have a wife ?” Kenji throws his arm around Warner and squeezes. “You’re married ? Congrats, man. I had no idea. You literally never mention it.”
“Shut up.” Warner shoves away from Kenji, who only looks delighted to have pissed him off. Then, out of nowhere, Kenji chucks his empty juice box at my head.
“Ow, what the hell—”
Get up , he mouths.
I look up to see Warner watching this exchange, studying me impassively as he pockets the candy. He tugs up his shirtsleeves, then crosses his arms.
He’s wearing lavender.
He’s the only guy I know who can wear a lavender crewneck and still be terrifying.
“So, we’ll see you guys for dinner next week?” Adam glances at Warner as he heads toward the door. “Alia was hoping to check in on Juliette.”
Warner nods. “She’d love that. James is cooking.”
“What?” I go rigid. “I didn’t agree to cook.”
“ Oh. ” Adam snaps his fingers, turning his attention to me. “You should know,” he says, “Roman isn’t eating broccoli or rice or melted cheese anymore. He’ll eat pasta, though.”
“Then he’s going to starve,” I say. “All I know how to cook are chicken breasts and protein shakes. Eggs. Maybe a hamburger.”
“You don’t cook protein shakes,” Winston says.
I nod at him. “Thank you for proving my point.”
“I’ll make him pasta,” Warner offers. “He likes it with red sauce, doesn’t he?”
Adam shakes his head, hefting the backpack over his shoulder. “Not anymore. Only cheese sauce.”
Warner frowns. “I thought he wasn’t eating melted cheese.”
“On bread or vegetables. He’s okay with cheese in pasta,” Adam explains. “But only if it’s white cheese. He won’t touch it if it’s yellow.”
“What is happening to your kids, man?” Kenji says, stunned. “When I was growing up it was a choice between food or no food. And I always chose food.”
“Gigi will eat anything,” he says, shrugging. “Roman gets in his head about it.”
Warner’s frown deepens. “I think I need to have a talk with Roman. But first I need to have a talk with a different child.” To me, he says, “Get up.”
“ I’m not a child ,” I practically shout.
“You’re right. Most children learn to stand by the age of one. How old are you?”
Reluctantly, I get to my feet. “All right, fine, I’m up.” I hold out my arms. “Where are we going?”
“Jesus, the balls on this kid,” mutters Winston. “I’d have pissed my pants by now.”
Warner holds my eyes a beat longer, exhales audibly, then leaves the room.
Just leaves the room.
“Hey,” I call after him. “Where are we going?”
The door snicks shut.
“You better chase him down,” Kenji says, gathering up his snack wrappers.
“What the hell is going on?” I demand, looking around. “Where is he trying to take me?”
“Somewhere they won’t find the body,” says Winston.
Adam laughs.
“C’mon, how can you think this is funny?”
“I don’t know,” says Adam, glancing at his watch. “I kind of hope he does kick your ass. You have no idea what you put us through these last few days.”
Sighing, I squeeze my eyes shut.
I thought the gentle mocking and constant babying was bad before I left for the Ark. I thought, at minimum, coming home alive would inspire some respect, if not outright admiration for surviving the unsurvivable. Instead, it looks like I’ve made things worse.
They’re never going to let me live this down.
When I finally catch up to Warner in the hall, he doesn’t stop moving. He doesn’t even slow down.
He only glances at me and says, “Idiot.”
“I’m sorry— Look—”
“You will apologize.”
“I did apologize,” I say, matching his stride. “I am apologizing. I’ve apologized to everyone—”
“You will apologize to Juliette. You will do it today. You will sit with her for as long as she likes, and you will not tell her stories about being exploded out of a tree or having your organs harvested. You will never do this to her again.” He stops suddenly, turns to face me. “Do you understand me? You will never, ever do something this stupid again or I swear to you, James, you will live to regret it.”
I turn my eyes to my boots, the polished concrete floors underfoot. In that moment, I feel more guilt than fear. I know what his anger is really about. I know how much he loves me even if he’s only admitted it once, by omission, when Juliette was trying to mediate an argument between us and said, All right, that’s enough—you two love each other , and Warner didn’t correct her.
The man practically raised me.
I love Adam to death, but when we overthrew The Reestablishment and he decided he wanted to live a quiet, normal life—I went directly to Warner. At the time he was the brother I barely knew, the one I’d just met.
I asked him to take me in.
At eleven years old I didn’t even understand the breadth of what I was asking; I just knew I didn’t want a quiet, normal life. I’d only just discovered I had healing powers; I’d only just discovered my family heritage; and there was more I wanted to learn, more I wanted to become. I knew I couldn’t achieve my goals with Adam, because even then I understood the difference between my brothers.
Adam wanted peace. Warner wanted justice.
But I’d realized at a young age that you can’t have peace without securing justice; and when you’re living under tyranny you can’t secure justice without violence. I didn’t want to live a passive life. Besides, I wasn’t blind. I saw the way the world looked at Warner: with the kind of awe and fear and respect I’d always dreamed of. He’d worked hard for that kind of power, living a terrifying and propulsive life that made me think he was invincible.
I wanted to be him.
Warner and Juliette took me into their home without hesitation. They were newlyweds deep in the chaos of a post-revolution era, trying to reshape a disfigured world, but they never made me feel like a burden. Growing up, Adam was too busy fighting for our lives to be around for my childhood; I spent most of my time alone, fending for myself, living a semi-orphaned existence. By contrast, Warner rarely let me out of his sight. He tucked me under his wing, teaching me and training me. Rebuilding me. And by virtue of living in his home I’ve seen glimpses of him most people wouldn’t believe possible. Softer versions of him; laughing versions of him. Loving versions of him.
Right now, all of that is gone. Right now, he’s an invulnerable shield. A wall of ice.
He’s upset.
“So, uh, how’s she doing?” I ask the floor. “Are the doctors still worried?”
I hear him sigh. He shifts, his boots turning away from me. “She’s better,” he says quietly. “Now that you’re home.”
“I’ll go to her now,” I say, looking up. “I’ll head to the house right now—”
“You’ll go,” he says darkly, “when I’m done with you.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again. “What does that mean?”
He starts walking. “It means we still have a lot to do before the day is over.”
“Wait—what’s happening?” I chase after him, my footsteps echoing down the polished concrete corridor. “Where are we going?”
“Take a wild guess,” he says dryly.
“Why won’t you just answer my question?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?” he counters.
“For clarity ,” I say. “Why else would I ask questions?”
“Your entitlement is exhausting.”
“Entitled? You think I’m entitled for wanting to know what we’re doing before we’re doing it?”
“Yes.”
“That’s crazy—”
“Juliette spoiled you.”
“ You spoiled me,” I shoot back.
“Shut up.”
Now I’m smiling, falling into easy step beside him. I glance at Warner out of the corner of my eye, wondering whether he’ll berate me any more than this, but he doesn’t. Weird. One time, as a kid, I dropped a rack of weights on my arm, snapping it in two places, and his angry (panicked) tirade lasted an hour. This speech lasted only a few minutes.
And then it hits me:
“You’re not even that mad, are you?” I say, my spirits lifting. “You’re actually a little bit impressed with me, aren’t you?”
Warner doesn’t look at me.
“You are, aren’t you?” Now I’m excited. Tension loosens my shoulders. My smile widens. “You think I’m amazing. You think I’m a genius for making it back alive—”
“I think you’re an idiot,” he says sharply. He comes to a stop behind a closed door, flashing me a warning look. “You think coming back alive is something to be proud of? You think death is the worst thing that can happen to you? Dying is easy. Enduring your own pain is a mercy. Hell is when you’re forced to stay alive, looking on as your enemies take away someone you love— torture someone you love— while you’re helpless to save them. Sometimes we pray for death, James. Sometimes making it out alive is worse than death.”
This kills the smile on my face immediately.
“But this,” Warner says, subdued as he reaches into his pocket, “is perhaps an interesting result of your time spent on the island.”
He holds up the little blue chip I ripped out of the squirrel. No longer bloody. He’s clearly been examining it.
I manage a tentative smile. “So … I did okay?”
“You hand-delivered a mercenary of The Reestablishment directly into the epicenter of the resistance, granting her access to every high-profile leader of the opposition. You brought her here without forethought, without even checking her for concealed weapons—”
“I did, actually,” I say in a rush. “I did search her—”
“Did you search inside her head ?” he asks, cutting me off. “Did you peel back her skin to scan for surveillance tech, trackers, subtle explosives—”
“Shit. No.” I take a tight breath. “No. I didn’t do that.” Warner touches a hand to the door and it scans his data, unsealing a moment later with a sigh. He pulls it open, and I follow him inside the dark room, lights pinging on as we enter the narrow hall. I’ve never been in here before. An interior vestibule opens up to a larger room, sparsely furnished, its only distinguishing characteristic the massive window taking up one wall. I do a double take.
On the other side is Rosabelle, lying in a hospital bed.
The sight of her stops me in my tracks.