Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) (15 page)

He unfolded his arms.
“What did he say to you?”

Amber stepped closer to
him. “Ask him yourself,” she said. “You’re going to see him tomorrow anyway.”

Aaron raised his
eyebrows, but said nothing. Then he circled to the driver’s side. Frustrated,
she lowered herself into the passenger seat.

They
flew down the ridge, around switchbacks, and then cruised along State Street,
past halves
stumbling home with each other, palm trees strung up with
white lights, and empty, flashing clubs. A fog floated overhead, stained orange
by the city’s lights.

“Please
don’t go,” she blurted out.

“I’m
not going anywhere,” he said.

“
I mean tomorrow,” she
said. “That meeting. Don’t go to anything he invites you to.
”

Aaron
shifted gears forcefully, and they sped through a stop sign. “I have to go,” he
said. “Don’t ask me to explain it.”

Her
heart plummeted. “He’s lying to you,” she said.

“Who?
Clive?” he said.

“Casler.”

“About
what?” said Aaron.

“About
whatever he told you when he examined you,” she said. “He lied to Justin too.”

All
Quiet on the Western Front
, a movie about the last big war
before halves—the World War—showed in the Arlington Theater at midnight. It was
mostly empty.

They
chose the farthest seats back, and Amber raised the armrest separating them.
She leaned into him, her hair draping over his shoulder.

She
closed her eyes, breathing in his smell. It was like the poisonous, dizzying
fumes that rose after the strike of a match, existing only for a moment before
the flame went dark.

She
closed her eyes and pressed herself closer to him. During the explosions, her
eyelids flashed neon yellow, but she didn’t want to open them. They were in
their own world at the back of the theater, a world where they never had to say
goodbye to each other, where they were halves
,
and where juvengamy was
only a memory.

Aaron’s
body went rigid.

“What
are you thinking about?” she said.

He
trailed a finger down her arm, teasing the skin inside her elbow and giving her
goose bumps. “Something my teacher said,” he said.

“Wouldn’t
you rather think about us?” she said.

“I
try not to,” he said.

Meaning
he can’t stop
. She smiled, and slowly draped her arms around his
neck. “My parents won’t be home tomorrow evening,” she whispered into his ear
with her most alluring voice. “We could hang out if you want?” And then she
left him no choice by kissing his neck. He would, of course, no longer be accepting
Casler’s invitation.

“Nice
try,” he said, giving her a consolation kiss on her forehead. “But I’m still
going to the meeting.”

***

While
Aaron waited for Clive and Dominic to pick him up the following evening, he
opened his mom’s laptop and googled Dr. Casler Selavio.

The
name popped up in medical journals and websites sponsored by the Juvengamy
Brotherhood, but nothing of interest. Then, in an old article archive, Aaron
stumbled across a strange headline:

Casler
Selavio Fails to Demonstrate Cure for Half Death; Cites Privacy Issues

Curiously,
the article was ancient, from the year Aaron was born. He glanced up at the
kitchen clock: 9:05 p.m. They would be here any minute.

Aaron
skimmed the article, and a few sentences jumped out at him. He reread them.

 . . . though
Dr. Selavio claims the March 30
^th
test of the device (performed
during birth) was a success, he still hasn’t revealed the identity of the
“severed” boy, citing a wish to protect his privacy until a much later date. Selavio
states that the procedure may leave scarring at the back of the brain, but no
external signs. Meanwhile, health practitioners are alarmed by the staggering
rates of half death
observed in recently widowed halves . . .

Aaron
tried to swallow, but couldn’t work the muscles in his neck. According to the
article, Casler had tested his machine on a newborn on March 30
^th
,
eighteen years ago—the same day Aaron was born.

Could
it just be a coincidence?

He
recalled that Casler had also written on his medical forms that his scar tissue
was probably the result of a massive trauma to his channel during birth.
Perhaps he meant a trauma like getting severed from his half.

Aaron’s
sweaty thumbs slid on the keys, and his heart made dull, echoing thumps in the
hollow of his rib cage. Was
he
the “severed” boy Dr. Selavio had tested
his device on?

There
was a loud honk from Aaron’s driveway.

***

Aaron
snapped his head up, and his stomach plunged. He rose from the table, hands
shaking, and tripped over his chair.

Dominic’s
Beamer purred in his driveway. Its high beams flooded Aaron’s front yard with a
blinding bluish haze, while a full moon glowed on the horizon.

Aaron
slid into the backseat, willing the panic from his mind. He would find the
error in his logic later.

“Put
this on,” said Clive, handing him a cloak without looking at him.

Aaron
held the material to the window, and it shimmered in the moonlight—a
luminescent royal red. Dominic and Clive were already wearing theirs.

In
addition, Clive wore a gold sash over his shoulder—
membership
. He
fingered the scabs around his lips and eyebrows, which still hadn’t healed from
Friday.

“Amber’s
not your half,” said Aaron, trying to distract himself with the first thing
that came to mind. “She doesn’t have your tattoo.”

Clive
smirked. “Not yet,” he said.

“What
the hell does that mean?”

“You’ll
just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

On
the freeway onramp, Dominic downshifted and put on a burst of speed. Aaron’s
stomach scrunched against the seat, then sloshed back. He laid the cloak in
front of him, queasy all over again.

“You
know the exit,” Clive said to Dominic.

Layers
of Eucalyptus rushed by outside the window, black and silent. And through the
gaps, the full moon burst through a silver veil of clouds.

For
several minutes they drove in tense silence. Then Dominic took his eyes off the
road and twisted around in his seat. A white bandage covered the bridge of his
nose.

“I
swear to God, if Normandy tries anything this Friday—” There was a click, and
Aaron saw a thin switchblade glint in his hands. He raised it to Aaron, blade
first. “He’s dead. Got it?”

Aaron
felt his muscles tense, but he didn’t flinch. “You might want to stab me right
now then,” he said.

“Sounds
like fun.” Dominic smirked and flipped the knife closed. A minute later,
holding the steering wheel between his knees, he lit a joint and the reek of
marijuana wafted through the car. Clive took the next hit, held it in. Two wisps
of smoke seeped from his nostrils as he offered the glowing tip to Aaron.

“I
don’t smoke,” said Aaron.

They
got off the freeway and drove for miles down a deserted road, past dry fields
and empty warehouses. Every quarter mile, a street lamp flooded the car with
orange light and deepened the hard creases in Clive’s face.

“Pull
in here,” said Clive. “We’re in that warehouse.”

Aaron
saw what he was pointing at and realized coming here was a big mistake. Nature
had tried to reclaim the warehouse but abandoned the job half done. Ancient
graffiti flaked off the pitted concrete into tall, dead stalks of grass. Yellow
bulbs flickered over twisted steel doors. An old backhoe had been driven into
the wall, and the hydraulic rams had long since rusted over with hard, black
scabs.

The
only sign of activity was the white light spilling onto the dirt through a
crack in one of the boarded up windows. At this point, Aaron figured he would
rather strap himself into Casler’s device than step inside the place.

Dominic
parked behind the warehouse, and two men walked out to meet them. The hoods of
their red cloaks covered their eyes.

One
man was a whole head taller than the other—Casler Selavio. Aaron’s heartbeat
quickened.

Casler
signaled for Dominic to roll down his window, and then he leaned in and stared
around at the three of them. He paused at Aaron and grinned.

“Glad
you could come, Aaron,” he said. In the weak glow of distant street lamps, his
face appeared gaunt, chiseled. His eyes glinted out of bottomless pits of
shadow.

His
eyes darted to Clive, who was taking another hit from the joint. “Is that
weed?” he said. “Hand it over.”

Clive
passed the joint to Dominic, who passed it to Casler.

Casler
stood up, pressed the joint to his lips, and inhaled deeply. Then he breathed
out a contented sigh and leaned through the window again. “Everyone out of the
car,” he said. “Time for introductions.” He flicked the last burning ember off
to the side.

Aaron
opened his door and was overpowered by stench. There must have been a sewage
treatment plant nearby. He tugged the cloak over his head and staggered to the
other side of the car.

The
other man was buzzard-like, and for a moment, his fierce yellow eyes targeted
Aaron. He wore a gold cross around his neck and a woven sash similar to
Clive’s.

Casler
wore dozens, all different colors and embroidered with ancient crests. They
seemed to indicate his high status in the Juvengamy Brotherhood.

And
Aaron became aware, more subconsciously than anything, that a spell-like power
emanated from Casler’s proud eyes. He beamed at all of them, and when he placed
a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, Aaron moved to stand beside him, feeling calm,
blissful even—when a moment before he’d been certain the presence behind
Casler’s eyes was not human.

***

“Father
Dravin, these are friends of my son,” said Casler, herding them forward like
children. “Dominic and Aaron.”

The
priest didn’t smile. “Are they Brothers?” he said.

“Just
guests,” said Casler.

Dravin
straightened his glasses and his eyes flicked to Aaron, but he said nothing.

They
walked across the dead field, pitted with gopher holes, and through rows of
expensive cars.

 Moonlight
brushed the back of Aaron’s neck like a whisper. He shivered, with the sudden
strange feeling he was being watched. He thought he saw motionless figures in
all the cars, in the passenger seats, but it must have been an optical
illusion. Aaron passed another car—and froze.

A
blue Corvette, just like the one he had seen in front of Amber’s house. Her
father’s car. Was this why her parents wouldn’t be home tonight?

Aaron
tore his eyes off the license plate, unable to recall the number.

Blinding
light spilled from an open doorway in the warehouse, past the mangled, dented
steel door.

Before
they filed inside, Aaron saw the priest grab Casler’s arm and stop him just
outside the doorway. He stood on his toes and whispered in Casler’s ear.

Aaron
angled toward them and paused to listen, and because Father Dravin hadn’t
noticed him trailing slightly behind the others, Aaron heard every word of
their whispered conversation.

“You
expect them to believe you?” he said.

“Of
course,” said Casler, smiling.

“A
child without a half?”

“Half
death is a disease, Father, therefore it is curable.”

“He
would die of loneliness.”

“
Loneliness
is not a clinical cause of death.”

“There
are other things,” said Dravin. “Things from above. You could never make such a
child persist.”

“But
Dravin, I
have
made such a child persist.” Casler swung around, smiled
at Aaron, and stepped into the bright warehouse.

***

Aaron’s
pulse quickened as he followed the men inside.
A child without a half
 . . . so
a cure for half death was possible, and Dr. Selavio was going to demonstrate it
tonight. Aaron swallowed and tried not to think about the article he read
earlier.

Hot
air circulated inside the warehouse. A hundred folding chairs faced a podium,
most of them filled, and Aaron noticed immediately what was wrong.

The
chairs were filled by men—only men. Not one of them was with his half. They all
wore the same red cloaks with sashes. The murmur of only male voices, like a
constant growl, was a sound Aaron had never heard before.

The
three of them, Clive, Dominic and Aaron, filed into a row near the front. Clive
shook hands with the men around him.