Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) (25 page)

A
mile from the Chamber, Aaron started passing cars. Cadillacs and Mercedes.
Their black bodies glinted in the sun.

Then,
without warning, the Chamber of Halves was upon him. A towering castle of
bleached adobe, nesting in the high cliffs above the valley—parting a great sea
of silver mist.

Six
minutes until his appointment, he pulled up to the entrance, double-parked a
blue Corvette, and killed the engine. Silence closed around him.

As
soon as he stepped out of his Mazda, a crosswind sliced through his tuxedo,
making his knees wobble. The Chamber of Halves loomed in front of him, immense
and impenetrable.

There
were thirty-six steps up to the oak doors. But it felt like three hundred.

A
man waited at the top. He wore the red vest and black slacks of a bellhop or
valet.

“Welcome
to the Tularosa Chamber of Halves, Mr. Harper.” The man bowed and hauled open
the giant oak doors. “We have you in a special office today. We’ll let you know
when it’s time.”

On
March 30
^th
, three minutes until his appointment, Aaron stepped
inside the Chamber of Halves, into the dry and decadent aroma of royalty—alone.

***

The
lobby was huge. Tapestries hung from a sixty-foot ceiling, from timbers carved
of whole trees. Curving majestically up to the second floor, a staircase draped
in purple carpet spanned the entire space. Velvet couches lined the walls,
dwarfed under a mosaic of framed photos that reached the ceiling.

Photos
of Chambers from around the world.

Their
founding dates, most within five years of the discovery, were engraved
alongside on plaques.

Aaron
slung his jacket over his shoulder and strolled into the lobby. He leaned
against the receptionist’s mahogany desk, which looked to be proportioned for a
giant.

He
closed his eyes, and the thought of Amber sent shivers down his spine.

She
was all his, forever. They were halves
.

And
in two minutes, they would be whole.

Then
again, his sense of time could have been off by two minutes.

Aaron
felt the eleven o’clock gong before he heard it, and his eyelids sprang open as
the walls began to thunder. The roar of the Chamber’s bell tower vibrated his
bones, deafeningly close. In his ears, blood rippled and throbbed against his
skull.

A
searing pain shot through the back of his head, making him wince, and at that
moment, he knew everything was wrong. He couldn’t catch his breath, the air was
sluggish, burdened by the bell’s lingering vibrations—the clairvoyance of
things to come.

He
glanced around, then started toward the stairs. It was all wrong, they had
gotten everything wrong. Before he even made it halfway across the lobby, the
elevator chimed, and its doors opened. Half a dozen photographers filed out,
carrying flash units and tripods. They waddled to the foot of the stairs.

Aaron
slowed and watched them. Then he heard footsteps, hundreds of them, marching
down the stairs into the lobby. A camera flashed, followed by another. Soon the
bursts came like fireworks, flooding the stairs with blinding light.

It
was a formal wedding party, and Aaron caught a glimpse of the two people they
were photographing at the front of the procession—and it felt like an
eighty-pound dumbbell landing in his stomach. 

The
closer one was Clive Selavio. He wore a white tuxedo. And walking to his right,
her arm linked with his—was Amber Lilian.

***

She
had straightened her hair and put some of it up. Her lips sparkled, so did her
long white gown, trailing on the steps behind her. She glittered with every
flash from the cameras.

She
stared straight ahead, her expression blank, detached.

Her
father walked behind her, next to her mother, whom Aaron had never met. The
woman’s golden hair had silver streaks from age. She looked stoic, like a
mannequin. Yet her eyes gleamed with pride.

Towering
over the others, Casler Selavio walked in step behind Clive and next to Mr.
Lilian, his huge arm firmly linked with his half, also whom Aaron had never
seen. But judging by her blank stare, she was just like the woman he’d seen in
the car. Empty. Another camera flashed and Casler’s white teeth twinkled.

Dominic
Brees came next, followed by hundreds more in crisp suits and gowns, including
Father Dravin in full priest attire a few rows back. Most of the women had the
vacant looks of juvengamy women.

Clive
grinned for the cameramen as they circled him and Amber, flashing away. He put
his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her closer. Her limp body obeyed like
a rag doll. She smiled once, briefly, and the onslaught of flashes that
bleached her face forced her to lower her eyes.

Aaron
stared at them as they crossed the lobby, unable to draw breath, unable to
pivot his frozen knees. Unable to save her. Between his eyes, there was only
frigid, black confusion as every last drop of his conviction evaporated. There
was so much they hadn’t considered the night before, so much delusion. Of
course halves
couldn’t be faked. He saw the truth now—in Amber and
Clive’s synchronized steps, in the identical sparkle of their bright eyes, in
their equally perfect features—what he’d been blinded to for a month.

Amber
and Clive simply
looked
right together.

After
today, they would belong only to each other; the rules were different. When
Casler’s machine was through with Amber, she would become Clive’s puppet, to do
with as he pleased. There was nothing Aaron could do about it. Nothing.

That
was the law of halves
.

The
paparazzi followed Clive and Amber through the doors. For a full five minutes,
the procession filed through the lobby, until finally, the footsteps of the
last couple echoed through the hall.

Gradually,
the stabbing pain in his skull faded. But the pain in his heart did not.

“Mr.
Harper—” The receptionist leaned forward. “It’s time.”

***

Amber felt Clive
gripping her waist, holding her steady as they descended the thirty-six steps
outside the Chamber of Halves, most likely unaware that his arm was the only
thing keeping her vertical. Every step was a leap of faith, a petrifying
free-fall, threatening to drain her already empty stomach onto the flashing
cameras in front of her.

At the bottom she let
unfamiliar hands guide her into a limousine, and she fell into a cold leather
seat strewn with rose petals. Clive slid in next to her, and without warning
they were alone,
unnervingly
alone—as the guests’ chatter was muted
outside the tinted glass.

The limo pulled away,
leaving her stomach far behind. Clive was whispering something, sliding closer
to her, touching her in places he shouldn’t, but all she could do was fix her
stare helplessly on the horizon and wait for it to stop spinning.

Clive had discovered
her that morning, sleeping with Aaron. Amber shut her eyes, but the memory had
already stung her. The urge to cry out his name was unbearable. Even in the
Chamber, she expected Aaron. Even after Clive entered, grabbed her hand, and
led her wordlessly before their parents—and the roaring applause of the
Juvengamy Brotherhood—she
still
believed it was an arrangement.

What finally convinced
her otherwise was the image of Clive’s pale blue eyes through the aitherscope
during the confirmation.

The limo descended into
the valley below and dropped them off at the Chamber Ballroom, where a hundred
silk covered tables were set with crystal glasses and silver.

When the first course
was served, shrimp salad over half an avocado, smothered in a thick reddish
sauce, Amber took one look and barely managed to excuse herself to the bathroom
before she threw up.

Clive followed her and
banged on the door.

Amber coughed and
stared at the watery contents of her stomach as they seeped down the drain, and
another knot formed in her stomach.

She wondered vaguely
about Aaron’s half, but she couldn’t hold the thought. Her stomach convulsed
again. Good, the sooner it was all out, the better.

Just like the sooner
they emptied her out with that machine, the better.

Clive banged harder,
threw his weight against the door, and broke the lock. He swooped in and
grabbed her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he
said.

“You’re
really
asking?”
she said.

“Is this how it’s going
to be, Amber?” he said. “Is this how it’s going to be on our wedding night?”

“No,” she said, “this
is how it’s going to be forever.”

“Does it matter that I
love you?”

“Clive, none of this
has ever been about love,” she said.

He stared at her. “It’s
Harper, isn’t it?”

“Why does it matter?”
she said. “We’re halves, just like you always wanted.”

“You used to love me,”
he said.

“Funny. I don’t
remember that,” she said.

His blue eyes held her
captive. “Well I do.”

***

Aaron
stepped into the special office and found Walter Wu cradling his forehead in
his hands, gazing at a photo of his half
through thick glasses. Aaron
shut the door behind him and the man flinched, knocking the frame into his lap.

“Mr.
Harper
—?” he said, his eyes widening as Aaron lowered himself into the
chair opposite his desk.

“Who’d
you expect?” said Aaron.

Walter
chewed on his lip for a moment, considering him carefully. Then he pulled off
his glasses and massaged his bald forehead. “Aaron, you seem like an ordinary
kid to me so I’ll just get right to it.”

In
the special office, there was only a desk and a chair. No tapestries, no
chandeliers, no paintings. It was an office for delivering bad news, for
explaining complications.

And
it was wrong to be here. It was wrong to meet his half. He was in love with
Amber.

“Yes,
perfectly ordinary,” Walter added, and he didn’t look Aaron in the eye. He slid
his glasses back into place and turned to the file that was open on his desk,
“which is why your situation is so curious.”

He
flipped over one of the pages. “Of course, halves aren’t born
exactly
the same time. Sometimes they’re off by a fraction of a second, but
eighteen
years?
”

Walter
Wu shook his head and set the page down. “No, your situation is quite
different.” He looked up. “I’m afraid you don’t have a half.”

Plus 1
minute

Walter Wu held his
breath, his knuckles white on the framed photo in his lap as he waited for
Aaron’s reaction.

But
Aaron only blinked.

You
don’t have a half.
It was like saying he didn’t have a mother, or that the
sun hadn’t risen that morning. It had to be a play on words.

“Sorry—”
Aaron leaned forward. “I didn’t catch that last bit.”

“I
assure you,” said Walter, his breath leaking from the corners of his mouth. “To
this day our very best psychologists continue to analyze the circumstances of
your birth. They agree that you’re extremely fortunate—”

Aaron
raised his eyebrows, and Walter’s face gave an odd twitch.

“In
fact,” said Walter, still unable to meet Aaron’s gaze. “It’s a miracle you’re
alive at all. Anybody else with your condition would be dead.”

The
man’s words travelled slowly, striking Aaron’s ear a full second after they
were spoken. In the special office, across from Walter Wu, Aaron watched the
answer to his life’s riddle crystalize before his eyes.

He
didn’t have a half. And the opposite of what Walter said was true. To be dead—
that
would be fortunate.

Amber
had been wrong. It wasn’t a setup.

“So
the two who just left,” said Aaron, asking the only question that still
mattered, “they’re halves?”

“You
mean the Selavios?”

At
the mention of the name, Aaron’s lungs tightened. He nodded.

“Actually,
I confirmed them myself,” said Walter. “I still have the aitherscope’s printout
if you’d like to see.”

Aaron
stared at him, swishing drool around in his mouth. Then he hunched forward,
planted his elbows on his knees, and spit on the floor. While his saliva
bubbled on the tiles, he listened to the clock’s endless ticking.

Walter
Wu stiffened, and his hand crept toward the telephone on his desk.

Finally,
Aaron rose to his feet and left the office. The deep, purple hallways were
lined with paintings of valleys and sunsets—scenes of life’s beauty.

On
Aaron’s eighteenth birthday, he left the Chamber of Halves through a steel
service door, peeled a parking ticket off his windshield, and drove home alone.