Imagine Me (Shatter Me #6) - Tahereh Mafi Page 0,88

forward, about to say something, and Anderson pushes her body behind him. “I ordered you to remain silent,” he says, glancing back at her. “And I am now ordering you to remain safe, at all costs. Do you hear me, Juliette? Do y—”

When the shot rings out, I don’t believe it.

I think my mind is playing tricks on me. I think this is some kind of weird interlude—a strange dream, a moment of confusion—I keep waiting for the scene to change. Clear. Reset.

It doesn’t.

No one thought it would happen like this. No one thought the supreme commanders would destroy themselves. No one thought we’d see Anderson felled by one his own, no one thought he’d clutch his bleeding chest and use his last gasp of breath to say:

“Run, Juliette. Run—”

Ibrahim shoots again, and this time, Anderson goes silent.

“Juliette,” Ibrahim says, “you’re coming with me.”

J doesn’t move.

She’s frozen in place, staring at Anderson’s still figure. It’s so weird. I keep waiting for him to wake up. I keep waiting for his healing powers to kick in. I keep waiting for that annoying moment when he comes back to life, clutching a pocket square to his wound—

But he doesn’t move.

“Juliette,” Ibrahim says sharply. “You will answer to me now. And I am ordering you to follow me.”

J looks up at him. Her face is blank. Her eyes are blank. “Yes, sir,” she says.

And that’s when I know.

That’s when I know exactly what’s going to happen next. I can feel it, can feel some strange electricity in the air before he makes his move. Before he blows our cover.

Warner pulls back his invisibility.

He stands there motionless for only a moment, for just long enough for Ibrahim to register his presence, to cry out, to reach for his gun. But he’s not fast enough.

Warner is standing ten feet away when Ibrahim goes suddenly slack, when he chokes and the gun slips from his hand, when his eyes bulge. A thin red line appears in the middle of Ibrahim’s forehead, a terrifying trickle of blood that precipitates the sudden, soft sound of his skull breaking open. It’s the sound of tearing flesh, an innocuous sound that reminds me of ripping open an orange. And it doesn’t take long before Ibrahim’s knees hit the floor. He falls without grace, his body collapsing into itself.

I know he’s dead because I can see directly into his skull. Clumps of his fleshy brain matter leak out onto the floor.

This, I think, is the kind of horrifying shit J is capable of.

This is what she’s always been capable of. She’s just always been too good a person to use it.

Warner, on the other hand—

He doesn’t even seem bothered by the fact that he just ripped open a man’s skull. He seems totally calm about the brain matter dripping on the floor. No, he’s only got eyes for J, who’s staring back at him, confused. She glances from Ibrahim’s limp body to Anderson’s limp body and she throws her arms forward with a sudden, desperate cry—

And nothing happens.

Robo J has no idea that Warner can absorb her powers.

Warner takes a step toward her and she narrows her eyes before slamming her fist into the floor. The room begins to shake. The floor begins to fissure. My teeth are rattling so hard I lose my balance, slam against the wall, and accidentally pull back my invisibility. When Juliette spots me, she screams.

I fly out of the way, throwing myself forward, diving over a table. Glass crashes to the floor, shatters everywhere.

I hear someone groan.

I peek through the legs of a table just in time to see Anderson begin to move. This time, I actually gasp.

The whole world seems to pause.

Anderson struggles up, to his feet. He doesn’t look okay. He looks sick, pale—an imitation of his former self. Something is wrong with his healing power, because he looks only half-alive, blood oozing from two places on his torso. He sways as he gets to his feet, coughing up blood. His skin goes gray. He uses his sleeve to wipe blood from his mouth.

J goes rushing toward him, but Anderson lifts a hand in her direction, and she halts. His bleak face registers a moment of surprise as he gazes at Ibrahim’s dead body.

He laughs. Coughs. Wipes away more blood.

“Did you do this?” he says, his eyes locked on his own kid. “You did me a favor.”

“What have you done to her?” Warner demands.

Anderson smiles. “Why don’t I show you?” He glances at