Ignite Me

by Tahereh Mafi

  This is where I was shot.

  The bloodstain from where I was lying on the ground has already been cleaned up. Or maybe the carpet was changed. I’m not sure. Either way, the memories still surround me. I can’t walk back into this house without feeling sick to my stomach. Everything is wrong in here. Everything is so wrong. So off.

  Something has happened.

  I can feel it.

  I’m careful to shut the door gently behind me. I creep up the stairs, remembering how the floorboards squeaked when I was first captured and brought here, and I’m able to sidestep the noisiest parts; the rest of it, thankfully, just sounds like it could be the wind.

  When I’m upstairs, I count three doors. Three rooms.

  On the left: Warner’s old room. The one I woke up in.

  In the middle: the bathroom. The one I was bathed in.

  On the far end of the hall, all the way to the right: his mother’s room. The one I’m looking for.

  My heart is racing in my chest.

  I can hardly breathe as I tiptoe closer. I don’t know what I’m expecting to find. I don’t know what I’m hoping will come of this trip. I don’t have any idea, even, if Warner is still in here.

  And I have no idea what it’ll be like to see his mother.

  But something is pulling me forward, urging me to open the door and check. I need to know. I just have to know. My mind won’t rest otherwise.

  So I inch forward. Take several deep breaths. I grasp the doorknob and turn, so slowly, not even realizing I’ve lost invisibility until I see my feet crossing the threshold.

  I panic in an instant, my brain calculating contingency plans, and though I briefly consider turning around and bolting out the door, my eyes have already scanned the room.

  And I know I can’t turn back now.

  FIFTY

  There’s a bed in here.

  A single bed. Surrounded by machines and IVs and bottles and brand-new bedpans. There are stacks of bedsheets and stacks of blankets and the most beautiful bookcases and embroidered pillows and adorable stuffed animals piled everywhere. There are fresh flowers in five different vases and four brightly painted walls and there’s a little desk in the corner with a little matching chair and there’s a potted plant and a set of old paintbrushes and there are picture frames, everywhere. On the walls, on the desk, sitting on the table beside the bed.

  A blond woman. A little blond boy. Together.

  They never age, I notice. The pictures never move past a certain year. They never show the evolution of this child’s life. The boy in these photos is always young, and always startled, and always holding fast to the hand of the lady standing beside him.

  But that lady is not here. And her nurse is gone, too.

  The machines are off.

  The lights are out.

  The bed is empty.

  Warner has collapsed in the corner.

  He’s curled into himself, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, his head buried in his arms. And he’s shaking.

  Tremors are rocking his entire body.

  I’ve never, ever seen him look like a child before. Never, not once, not in all the time I’ve known him. But right now, he looks just like a little boy. Scared. Vulnerable. All alone.

  It doesn’t take much to understand why.

  I fall to my knees in front of him. I know he must be able to sense my presence, but I don’t know if he wants to see me right now. I don’t know how he’s going to react if I reach out.

  But I have to try.

  I touch his arms, so gently. I run my hand down his back, his shoulders. And then I dare to wrap myself around him until he slowly breaks apart, unfolding in front of me.

  He lifts his head.

  His eyes are red-rimmed and a startling, striking shade of green, shining with barely restrained emotion. His face is the picture of so much pain.

  I almost can’t breathe.

  An earthquake hits my heart then, cracks it right down the middle. And I think here, in him, there is more feeling than any one person should ever have to contain.

  I try to hold him closer but he wraps his arms around my hips instead, his head falling into my lap. I bend over him instinctively, shielding his body with my own.

  I press my cheek to his forehead. Press a kiss to his temple.

  And then he breaks.

  Shaking violently, shattering in my arms, a million gasping, choking pieces I’m trying so hard to hold together. And I promise myself then, in that moment, that I will hold him forever, just like this, until all the pain and torture and suffering is gone, until he’s given a chance to live the kind of life where no one can wound him this deeply ever again.

  And we are quotation marks, inverted and upside down, clinging to one another at the end of this life sentence. Trapped by lives we did not choose.

  It’s time, I think, to break free.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Kenji is waiting in the tank when we get back. He managed to find it.

  He’s sitting in the passenger side, invisibility off, and he doesn’t say a single word as Warner and I climb inside.

  I try to meet his eyes, already prepared to concoct some crazy story for why it took me an hour to get Warner out of the house, but then Kenji looks at me. Really looks at me.

  And I close my mouth forever.

  Warner doesn’t say a single word. He doesn’t even breathe loudly. And when we get back to base, he lets me and Kenji leave the tank under our guise of invisibility and he still says nothing, not even to me. As soon as we’re out of the tank, he closes our door, and climbs back inside.

  I’m watching him drive off again when Kenji slips his arm into mine.

  We weave back through the storage facility without a problem. Cross through the shooting range without a problem. But just before we reach the door to Warner’s training facility, Kenji pulls me aside.

  “I followed you in,” he says, with no preamble. “You took too long and I got worried and I followed you up there.” A pause. A heavy pause. “I saw you guys,” he says, so quietly. “In that room.”

  Not for the first time today, I’m glad he can’t see my face. “Okay,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say. Not knowing what Kenji will do with the information.

  “I just—” Kenji takes a deep breath. “I’m just confused, okay? I don’t need to know all the details—I realize that whatever was happening in there was none of my business—but are you okay? Did something happen?”

  I exhale. Close my eyes as I say, “His mom died today.”

  “What?” Kenji asks, stunned. “What—h-how? His mom was in there?”

  “She’d been sick for a long time,” I say, the words rushing out of me. “Anderson kept her locked in that house and he abandoned her. He left her to die. Warner had been trying to help her, and he didn’t know how. She couldn’t be touched, just like I can’t touch anyone, and the pain of it was killing her every day.” I’m losing control now, unable to keep my feelings contained any longer. “Warner never wanted to use me as a weapon,” I say to him. “He made that up so he had a story to tell his father. He found me by accident. Because he was trying to find a solution. To help her. All these years.”

  Kenji takes a sharp breath. “I had no idea,” he says. “I didn’t even know he was close to his mom.”

  “You don’t know him at all,” I say, not caring how desperate I sound. “You think you do but you really don’t.” I feel raw, like I’ve been sanded down to the bone.

  He says nothing.

  “Let’s go,” I say. “I need some time to breathe. To think.”

  “Yeah,” he says. He exhales. “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

  I turn to go.

  “J,” he says, stopping me, his hand still on my arm.

  I wait.

  “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.”

  I blink fast against the burning in my eyes. Swallow back the emotion building in my throat. “It’s okay,
Kenji. You were never supposed to.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  I finally manage to pull myself together long enough to head back to the training rooms. It’s getting late, but I don’t anticipate seeing Warner down here tonight. I think he’ll want the time alone.

  I’m making myself scarce on purpose.

  I’ve had enough.

  I came so close to killing Anderson once, and I’ll make sure I have that chance again. But this time, I’ll follow through.

  I wasn’t ready last time. I wouldn’t have known what to do even if I’d killed him then. I would’ve handed control over to Castle and I would’ve watched quietly as someone else tried to fix our world again. But I see now that Castle was wrong for this job. He’s too tender. Too anxious to please everyone.

  I, on the other hand, am left with no concerns at all.

  I will be unapologetic. I will live with no regrets. I will reach into the earth and rip out the injustice and I will crush it in my bare hands. I want Anderson to fear me and I want him to beg for mercy and I want to say no, not for you. Never for you.

  And I don’t care if that’s not nice enough.

  FIFTY-THREE

  I get to my feet.

  Adam is standing across the room, talking to Winston and Ian. Everyone falls silent as I approach. And if Adam is thinking or feeling anything at all about me, he doesn’t show it.

  “You have to tell him,” I say.

  “What?” Adam startles.

  “You have to tell him the truth,” I say. “And if you don’t, I will.”

  All at once Adam’s eyes are a frozen ocean, cold and closed off. “Don’t push me, Juliette. Don’t say stupid things you’re going to regret.”

  “You have no right to keep this from him. He has no one in this world, and he deserves to know.”

  “This is none of your business,” Adam says. He’s towering over me, his fists clenched. “Stay out of it. Don’t force me to do something I don’t want to do.”

  “Are you actually threatening me?” I ask. “Are you insane?”

  “Maybe you’ve forgotten,” he says, “that I’m the only one in this room who can shut you off. But I haven’t. You have no power against me.”

  “Of course I have power against you,” I tell him. “My touch was killing you when we were together—”

  “Yeah, well, things have changed a lot since then.” He grabs my hand, yanking so hard I nearly fall forward. I try to pull away and I can’t.

  He’s too strong.

  “Adam, let go of me—”

  “Can you feel that?” he asks, eyes a crazy, stormy shade of blue.

  “What?” I ask. “Feel what?”

  “Exactly,” he says. “There’s nothing there. You’re empty. No power, no fire, no superstrength. Just a girl who can’t throw a punch to save her life. And I’m perfectly fine. Unharmed.”

  I swallow hard and meet his cold gaze. “So you’ve done it, then?” I ask. “You managed to control it?”

  “Of course I did,” he says angrily. “And you couldn’t wait—even though I told you I could do it—you couldn’t wait even though I told you I was training so we could be together—”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I’m staring at my hand in his, his refusal to let go. “We would’ve ended up in the same place sooner or later.”

  “That’s not true—this is proof!” he says, holding up my hand. “We could’ve made it work—”

  “We’re too different now. We want different things. And this?” I say, nodding at our hands. “All this managed to prove is that you are extremely good at turning me off.”

  Adam’s jaw clenches.

  “Now let go of my hand.”

  “Hey—can we please refrain from putting on a shitshow tonight?” Kenji’s voice booms from across the room. He’s heading toward us. Pissed.

  “Stay out of this,” Adam snaps at him.

  “It’s called consideration. There are other people living in this room, jackass,” Kenji says once he’s close enough. He grabs Adam’s arm. “So knock it off.”

  Adam breaks away angrily. “Don’t touch me.”

  Kenji shoots him a sharp look. “Let go of her.”

  “You know what?” Adam says, his anger taking over. “You’re so obsessed with her—jumping to her defense all the time, getting involved in our conversations all the time—you like her so much? Fine. You can have her.”

  Time freezes all around us.

  The stage is set:

  Adam and his wild eyes, his rage and his red face.

  Kenji standing next to him, annoyed, slightly confused.

  And me, my hand still locked in Adam’s viselike grip, his touch so quickly and easily reducing me back to who I was when we first met.

  I’m completely powerless.

  But then, in one movement, everything changes:

  Adam grabs Kenji’s bare hand and presses it into my empty one.

  For just long enough.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  It takes a couple of seconds for the two of us to register what’s just happened before Kenji rips his hand away, and in a moment of perfect spontaneity, uses it to punch Adam in the face.

  Everyone else in the room is now up and alert. Castle runs forward immediately, and Ian and Winston—who were already standing close by—hurry to join him. Brendan rushes out of the locker room in a towel, eyes searching for the source of the commotion; Lily and Alia jump off the bikes and crowd around us.

  We’re lucky it’s so late; James is already sleeping quietly in the corner.

  Adam was thrown back by Kenji’s punch, but he quickly regained his footing. He’s breathing hard, dragging the back of his hand across his now-bloody lip. He does not apologize.

  No sound escapes my open, horrified mouth.

  “What in God’s name is wrong with you?” Kenji’s voice is soft but deathly sharp, his right fist still clenched. “Were you trying to get me killed?”

  Adam rolls his eyes. “I knew it wouldn’t kill you. Not that quickly. I’ve felt it before,” he says. “It just burns a little.”

  “Pull yourself together, dickhead,” Kenji snaps. “You’re acting insane.”

  Adam says nothing. He actually laughs, flips Kenji off, and heads in the direction of the locker room.

  “Hey—are you okay?” I ask Kenji, trying to catch a glimpse of his hand.

  “I’m fine,” he sighs, glancing at Adam’s retreating figure before looking back at me. “But his jaw is hard as hell.” He flexes his fist a little.

  “But my touch—it didn’t hurt you?”

  Kenji shakes his head. “Nah, I didn’t feel anything,” he says. “And I’d know if I did.” He almost laughs, and frowns instead. I cringe at the memory of the last time this happened. “I think Kent was deflecting your power somehow,” Kenji says.

  “No he wasn’t,” I whisper. “He let go of my other hand. I felt the energy come back into me.”

  We both look at Adam’s retreating figure.

  Kenji shrugs.

  “But then how—”

  “I don’t know,” Kenji says again. He sighs. “I guess I just got lucky. Listen”—he looks around at everyone—“I don’t want to talk right now, okay? I’m going to go sit down. I need to cool off.”

  The group breaks up slowly, everyone going back to their corners.

  But I can’t walk away. I’m rooted in place.

  I felt my skin touch Kenji’s, and that’s not something I can ignore. Those kinds of moments are so rare for me that I can’t just shake them off; I never get to be that close to people without serious consequences. And I felt the power inside my body. Kenji should’ve felt something.

  My mind is working fast, trying to solve an impossible equation, and a crazy theory takes root inside of me, crystallizing in a way I’d never thought it could.

  This whole time I’ve been training to control my power, to contain it, to focus it—but I never thought I’d be able to turn it off. And I do
n’t know why.

  Adam had a similar problem: he’d been running on electricum his whole life. But now he’s learned how to control it. To power it down when he needs to.

  Shouldn’t I be able to do the same?

  Kenji can go visible and invisible whenever he likes—it was something he had to teach himself after training for a long time, after understanding how to shift from one state of being to another. I remember the story he told me from when he was little: he turned invisible for a couple of days without knowing how to change back. But eventually he did.

  Castle, Brendan, Winston, Lily—they can all turn their abilities on and off. Castle doesn’t move things with his mind by accident. Brendan doesn’t electrocute everything he touches. Winston can tighten and loosen his limbs at will, and Lily can look around normally, without taking snapshots of everything with her eyes.

  Why am I the only one without an off switch?

  My mind is overwhelmed as I process the possibilities. I begin to realize that I never even tried to turn my power off, because I always thought it would be impossible. I assumed I was fated to this life, to an existence in which my hands—my skin—would always, always keep me away from others.

  But now?

  “Kenji!” I cry out as I run toward him.

  Kenji glances over his shoulder at me, but doesn’t have the chance to turn all the way around before I crash into him, grabbing his hands and squeezing them in my own. “Don’t let go,” I tell him, eyes filling fast with tears. “Don’t let go. You don’t have to let go.”

  Kenji is frozen, shock and amazement all over his face. He looks at our hands. Looks back up at me.

  “You learned how to control it?” he asks.

  I can hardly speak. I manage to nod, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I think I’ve had it contained, all this time, and just didn’t know it. I never would’ve risked practicing it on anyone.”

  “Damn, princess,” he says softly, his own eyes shining. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Everyone is crowding around us now.