Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance)

by Dan Rix

  “You won’t even see the scar,” said Casler. “It’ll be at the back of her head, underneath her hair.”

  Aaron’s shoulder bumped the medicine rack, and the bottles rattled.

  Casler glanced at the rack, and his eyes narrowed through the gaps.

  Dravin laughed. “Another one of your tricks, Casler?” He pulled his cloak around his shoulders. “Until tomorrow then.”

  “Do try to dress nice,” said Casler, his eyes still on the medicine rack. “It’s my son’s birthday.”

  “It’s the birthday of our heir,” said Dravin. “Oh and Casler, about the bruises he had Wednesday—that will need to stop.”

  “That will stop when he obeys me and quits sneaking into my studio,” Casler said loudly, peering intently in Aaron’s direction.

  As soon as Dravin left, Casler marched to the wall. Aaron watched him between two beakers, as he flipped a switch—and a hundred halogen lights ignited and blazed all around him. Their blinding blue glare grilled his skin.

  “Now—” Casler’s voice boomed. He faced the medicine rack, which was now hardly more than a stained glass window. “Let’s find out who’s sneaking around my studio.”

  ***

  As Casler swept toward him, Aaron coiled his fingers around the throat of a medicine bottle and yanked it from the rack. He cracked it against the floor, stood, and raised its jagged edge.

  “Hold it there—” he said, as clear, chilled liquid dribbled down his arm and soaked into the gauze.

  “Aaron?” Casler halted.

  “Who’d you think?” said Aaron.

  “I thought you were Clive—” Casler’s face softened and he grinned despite the broken bottle in Aaron’s hands. “Aaron, what brings you down here?” he said conversationally.

  Aaron kicked over the medicine rack, and the roar of shattering glass echoed off the walls. Chemicals sizzled on the floor. “Why do you keep pretending?” he said.

  Casler eyed the steaming liquid rushing toward his feet. “Pretending?” he said. “Did something I say upset you?”

  Aaron’s wet arm felt warm and itchy. “If you even touch her,” he said. “I’ll gouge out your son’s eyes, I swear.”

  Casler smiled and stepped carefully around the steaming puddle. “Aaron, we’re all very taken by Amber’s charm,” he said, “but you do understand how much of a nuisance her constant disobedience can be sometimes.” His face blotted out the halogen lamps. “Just one tiny prick, though, and we can drain out the feisty parts. She won’t even know anything’s missing.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” said Aaron.

  “I’m afraid this isn’t my choice,” said Casler. “A man’s half must be obedient.”

  “So you’re going to suck her dry?” said Aaron, and he pictured the woman in the car outside the Juvengamy meeting. That was what Casler meant by obedient.

  “She’ll be quite tame when it’s done, and much improved, you’ll see. Now was there anything else?” Casler grinned, and he stepped closer, teeth sparkling.

  Aaron thrust the bottle forward, halting him. The cut on his wrist felt hot. “How about the kid you murdered?”

  “Sorry?” said Casler.

  “I saw the body,” said Aaron.

  “The body?” For a moment, Casler peered at him as if he was the crazy one, before his eyes flashed with awareness. “Ah—that body.”

  “There’s more than one?” said Aaron.

  “Just the one,” said Casler, beaming at him. “I was supposed to return it to the coroner—”

  An invisible fire seared Aaron’s wrist, and he dropped the broken bottle. His fingers tensed, clawlike, and he tore at the gauze around the knife wound. Singed hairs curled on his forearm, and the chemical smell of dissolving flesh parched his nose.

  It was the liquid on his arm.

  Casler rushed to his side and lifted his hand. His thick fingers probed Aaron’s skin.

  “Hydrochloric acid,” he said, kneeling and rummaging through the bottles on the floor. He caught one as it rolled away, unscrewed the cap, and doused Aaron’s arm.

  White foam hissed out of Aaron’s wound and off his skin, and the pain vanished immediately. Casler poured until the bottle was empty.

  Then he sighed and squeezed Aaron’s shoulder. “You had me frightened,” he said. “Let’s wrap this up so it doesn’t scar.”

  Aaron stared at him in disbelief.

  At that moment, Clive appeared at the foot of the stairs. “Father, are you busy?” he said.

  “Always,” said Casler, still examining Aaron’s swollen forearm. “Grab a bandage for us, would you?”

  Clive noticed Aaron in his father’s shadow, and his eyes contracted into white slits. “Father, can I speak with you in private?”

  “Get the bandage first,” said Casler.

  Clive’s shifty eyes darted between them. “It’s urgent,” he said.

  At first, Casler didn’t say anything, but his fingers closed on Aaron’s wrist, stiff as iron, and the low sound of his breathing rose over the machine. “Get us a bandage, Clive. Aaron’s hurt himself.”

  “Father, you must listen to me.”

  Casler scrunched his eyebrows together, released Aaron’s wrist, and stood to his full height. Slowly, he faced Clive. “I asked you for a bandage.”

  “Father, can you do it tonight?” Clive stuttered, pointing a trembling finger at Aaron. “Can you to put him in the machine tonight . . . please?”

  Before Casler could turn around, Aaron raced past him and rushed the exit. Clive stood his ground, but at the last moment, shrank away from him. Aaron shoved him out of the way and lunged up the stairs. Up in the cellar, he flew past the aitherscope. The intercom clicked above him.

  “Dominic—” Casler’s voice thundered in every room, a hundred times louder than it should have been. “Make sure Aaron doesn’t leave. He’s hurt himself and I need to treat him.”

  Aaron was already at the entrance, the door right in front of him. Freedom. But as it turned out, Dominic Brees was drinking another glass of whisky in the kitchen when Casler made his announcement.

  And Dominic Brees was the second fastest rugby player in the league.

  ***

  Aaron heard two sets of footsteps streak across the dark marble. He reached the door first and yanked it open, but Dominic slammed into him and they both tumbled out onto the granite steps.

  Aaron kneed the rugby player in the face and leapt up, and then there was nothing but cold wind whipping through his hair. He tried to hurtle a dead rosebush, jammed his foot ankle deep in thorns, and toppled face first onto the brick driveway. Dominic went the long way, but the dark blur of his torso closed in fast.

  Aaron veered toward the wilderness on the far side of the property. His thighs burned, and his chest threatened to cave in, but he could hear Dominic right behind him, panting, his hot breath on his heels.

  They plunged into the pitch-black forest. Branches materialized two feet in front of Aaron’s face, like disfigured human limbs. Too late to duck. He lowered his shoulder and charged through them. Splinters showered behind him.

  Then he shoved his foot against a root, swerved, and collapsed into the shadow of an oak tree. Dominic flew by, oblivious, and his muddy splashes faded into the distance.

  Aaron waited until there was silence, until only the restless clicking and creaking of the forest could be heard through the trees, then he retraced his steps back to the driveway. Beneath luminous rainclouds, a breeze rippled in the meadow. He knelt at the gate and caught his breath, and inside his rib cage, his heart ricocheted like a bouncy ball.

  But he shouldn’t have rested so soon.

  Aaron heard a click behind him. He spun, but too late. The fleshy hollow of Dominic’s elbow clamped down on his throat. He felt the switchblade wedge into the side of his windpipe, and then he heard wheezing in his ear.

  “How’d you get out of the well, number eleven?”

  “I climbed out,” Aaron spat. “It w
as easy.”

  “No way. Those walls are like a slip ’n slide.”

  “Yeah?” said Aaron. “My grandmother could have done it.”

  The knife’s pressure increased and Aaron struggled to breathe.

  “Sounds like you need a doctor,” said Dominic.

  “Fine,” said Aaron, “take me back to him . . . play his little lapdog.”

  “Don’t insult me,” said Dominic. “I don’t answer to any Selavio, and I never will.”

  “Then why’d you let him get away with it?” said Aaron. “He drilled a goddamn hole through Justin’s head. I saw the body.”

  “I know what he did, fuckface . . . it’s the same thing he’s going to do to you.” Dominic uncoiled his arm and shoved Aaron away from him. “Lucky for you, it’s Clive’s birthday today, which gives you a one day head start to leave the country. Now get off my property before I change my mind.”

  “It’s my birthday too,” said Aaron.

  “No shit,” said Dominic, “and you’re going to wish it wasn’t.”

  ***

  At four-thirty in the morning, Aaron scaled Dominic’s gate then stood terrified on the dark road. In all directions, the street’s gloomy houses were concealed behind knotted, cancerous growths of vegetation.

  Instead of being sound asleep like the street’s inhabitants, he was fifteen miles from home, alone, with six and a half hours to make his appointment—and all he could think about was Dr. Selavio’s hideous plans for Amber.

  First, he had to tell her.

  Aaron dialed her number and pressed his cell phone to his ear, but he got her voicemail.

  “You’ve reached Amber,” she said, giggling. “If you want me to call you back, try leaving a message.”

  “Amber, pick up your phone. Please.” Aaron snapped the phone shut, and a little more of his hope evaporated. She was asleep like everyone else at this ungodly hour, oblivious to the danger she was in.

  Or was she oblivious? How often had Amber told him nothing and pretended everything was fine? How often had she hidden her life from him so he wouldn’t try to protect her? How often had she disregarded the future—because she didn’t really have one?

  The truth was, Amber had known from the beginning—and that was the hardest part to take.

  She knew she was being molded into a prize for the Brotherhood’s heir, domesticated. That the undesirable parts of her would eventually have to be removed. She never told him because she never wanted him to know.

  Because after the operation, the scar at the back of her head would heal, but the hole inside her would not. Her eyes would be empty, extinguished forever of their dazzling flare—like all the other juvengamy women.

  Aaron’s stomach did queasy somersaults at the thought. He had to get her away from everyone. From Casler, from Clive—from her father.

  With trembling fingers, he dialed her number again. Again her voicemail.

  Aaron slipped the phone back into his pocket. Damn it, Amber. He started walking.

  He could go to the police. First they would interrogate Amber’s parents, then her half, Clive. Both conversations would convince them that Aaron was just causing trouble, that he was just a boy who had fallen for the wrong girl. He had no proof.

  And in six and a half hours, the entire Juvengamy Brotherhood would be watching her, the heiress. She would be untouchable. Aaron inhaled through his nose, and the stale morning air churned inside him. Its usefulness was rapidly ticking away.

  Except there was proof. In the woods behind Dominic’s house, the body. Proof that Dr. Selavio, the figurehead of Brotherhood, was a murderer. The police couldn’t ignore a body—

  Aaron’s cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Amber’s ringtone.

  He flipped open the phone. “Are you okay?”

  “I have something to tell you,” she said.

  And she sounded deliriously, impossibly happy.

  TEN

  0 Days, 6 hours, 29 minutes

  Aaron’s pulse flickered. He shut his eyes and breathed in slowly. She sounded just like she was supposed to, like herself—safe.

  “Tell me later,” he said. “You have to get out of your house right now.”

  “Why did Clive have your phone?” she said.

  “I got it back.”

  “Obviously,” she said, her voice still bubbly. “Now aren’t you going to invite me over so I can tell you?

  “I’m not home.”

  “Where are you?”

  Aaron stared at the moldy sky through a cage of dark, gnarled oak trees. Forty feet ahead, the pavement veered into the murky wilderness.

  “I’m at Buff’s house.”

  “You are such a bad liar—”

  “Because I don’t do it all the time like you do,” he said. “Just meet me at his house, please.”

  “Only if you tell me where you are,” she said.

  Aaron sighed and stepped up to a lonely mailbox. He lit the number with his cell phone screen. “Number twenty-two, Via Cordillera. It’s out in the middle of nowhere—”

  “Stay there,” she said. “I’m picking you up.”

  Aaron peeled the phone from his ear and stared at it in disbelief. Was she serious? “Amber, stay where you are. Don’t come anywhere near this place.”

  “I thought you wanted me out of my house?” she said.

  “I’ll come get you.”

  “So you’re wandering around alone in the middle of the night, out in the rain, and you think I’m the one who isn’t safe?”

  “Good. You understand,” he said.

  “No, what I understand is that knowing you, Aaron, you’ll probably get yourself thrown down a well or something. Bye.”

  “Amber, don’t—”

  But she’d already hung up. He redialed her number and it went straight to voicemail. Great, she was being reckless. Typical.

  Aaron kicked the mailbox, and droplets tumbled into the grass. The post wobbled sleepily. Aaron had only just leaned against the mailbox, too exhausted to speculate about Amber’s good news, when he felt another twinge in the back of head.

  Aaron’s questions resurfaced. Had he caused Clive’s bleeding? Or was it Clive’s weak connection to his half, a symptom of the “loose forces,” as his father called them? Was he sensing Clive again now, lurking nearby in the woods perhaps, following him—?

  Aaron’s thoughts blurred together as fatigue weighed down his eyelids.

  ***

  A few minutes later, Aaron’s eyelids sprang apart, and he found himself on the ground squinting into the silver glare of headlights. His jaw fell open as Amber’s blue beetle pulled off the road and stopped just short of him.

  He stood, yanked open the door, and stared in at her. “How fast did you drive?” he said.

  She smiled. “Fast.”

  At four-forty-five on Saturday morning, Aaron peered around the dark street then slid in next to her, into soft, black suede. Warm vents glazed his skin. Her car smelled brand new, like toy plastic. The dashboard twinkled with purple LEDs, and in their glow, Amber’s hair looked glossy, almost translucent.They both hesitated, as if they wanted to lean in and kiss each other. But the moment passed.

  “What’d you want to tell me?” he said.

  “Aren’t you going to wish me happy birthday?” she said.

  “It was my birthday first,” he said, shoving his fingers through his knotted, grimy hair. “Just drive.”

  But her eyes froze on the fresh black blood trickling out from underneath the scraps of gauze still clinging to his arm, then darted to his tattered, bloodstained shirt.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “Why do you always get hurt?” she said, leaning over him.

  “Just drive—please.” Aaron glanced at the rear view mirror, and for a terrifying split-second, he thought he saw a figure cross the road. He swiveled and looked behind them, but the road was dark.

  Amber followed his gaze. “Are you running away from someone?”
/>   “See the pedal on the right?” he said. “Push it!”

  “So you are running?”

  “Amber, can I drive?” he said.

  “No,” she said, and the car glided forward. “I’ve seen you drive.” Through the windshield, the high beams chased the shadows, which scampered back and crouched behind bushes.

  Aaron sighed, and Amber’s warm scent floated over him, confusing his nerves. Beneath him, the highway droned endlessly, and it would have put him to sleep but for the icy pricks of panic he felt across his skin. No, they weren’t being followed.

  Instead, he watched the speedometer. The needle climbed past eighty, then ninety. Then a hundred.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Do I scare you?” said Amber.

  “Are you trying to?”

  “Usually.”

  “Amber, I know what’s going to happen to you,” he said. “I overheard them. When you become the heiress, they’re going to make you like the other juvengamy women.”

  “They’re not.” An orange street lamp streaked past them and illuminated her expression—a mixture of exasperation and helplessness.

  “You know I’d give myself to Dr. Selavio before I let him do that to you,” said Aaron.

  “That’s your best plan?” she said.

  “What’s yours?”

  She took her eyes off the road to look at him. “Clive isn’t my half,” she said. “You are.”

  “Haven’t we been over this?” said Aaron, scanning the deserted lanes in the rear-view mirror one more time.

  “So? Isn’t it your deepest, most erotic fantasy?” she said, turning back to the road.

  “Be mature for five seconds—”

  “And it’s the truth,” she said. “He isn’t my real half. It’s an arrangement.”

  Aaron glanced over at her. “Meaning what?”

  “Don’t you think it’s too convenient?” she said.

  “You and Clive?”

  “We’re two of the oldest families,” she said. “Together we’d form a perfect bloodline.”

  The time had passed too quickly when she pulled in front of his house, leaving the engine running—and Aaron noticed the state of his front yard.

  Runny sediment trickled from cracked flowerpots, mustard yellow, and drained in rivulets off the curb. On the lawn, murky rainwater rippled in the deep tire tracks left by the Beamer. And next to his front door, glass splinters dangled from a broken window. He watched as a breeze severed one loose and it shattered onto the porch.