Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance)

by Dan Rix

  Feeling dizzy, Aaron sat up and swiveled his feet to the floor, stepping onto a Swiss Army duffel bag that was stashed between the bed and the windowsill. A baggage claim ticket on one of the straps revealed the owner. Clive Selavio.

  So this was his bedroom.

  Aaron’s gaze snapped back to the photos on the wall, and he realized what was off. They were all photos of the same person. Playing tennis in high school. Swimming in middle school. Even younger. Baby pictures. Everywhere he looked, a thousand snapshots of her blonde hair.

  All of Amber.

  The sour odor of static and dried glue seemed to thicken. He went to the sculpture on the dresser. They weren’t cupids like he’d thought, they were simply babies. Two infants, their bodies wrapped around each other in a sexually suggestive way. On the base of the sculpture, carved into the iron, were the words:

  Halves joined at birth

  The Juvengamy Brotherhood

  Hot with disgust, Aaron stared at the infants’ faces, sculpted into vague expressions of ecstasy, as every puzzling facet of Amber and Clive’s abusive relationship clicked into place.

  They were juvengamy halves; their parents had put them together shortly after birth. There were still a few who clung to the old belief that nature intended it that way, even though juvengamy had been illegal for decades. It damaged halves, thus Amber and Clive’s love-hate relationship.

  Aaron’s skin prickled with sweat, and he licked his lips, which had dried to scabs. If Amber was Clive’s half, it didn’t make sense to feel jealous any more. He would meet his own half in a week. So why, he asked himself as he stormed into the hallway, did he still have the squeamish feeling that Clive had stolen her from him?

  Dominic Brees was on his way in, though, and they collided in the doorway.

  ***

  “You?” said Aaron, but before he could act, Dominic grabbed his collar and slammed him against the wall outside the door.

  “This is my house, fuckface, and nap time’s over. You owe me now for saving your life . . . Clive almost killed you.”

  “No shit,” said Aaron, peeling Dominic’s fingers off his collar one by one. He could see why Buff hated this guy. “What the hell was that anyway?”

  “It’s what he does to idiots who hit on Amber,” said Dominic, lowering his hand. “You’re lucky his father was here to examine your head. Dr. Selavio wants to check you again later.”

  Dr. Selavio. Clive’s father. the same man, Aaron recalled, who was likely responsible for Emma Mist’s half death. “We’ll see about that,” he said, surveying the huge candlelit hallway. “By the way, where is our wonder boy?”

  “If I were you, I would stop provoking him.”

  “Once he fixes my car,” said Aaron. “This is his room, right? I think I’ll wait for him here.”

  “No, you won’t. His father’s going to deal with him,” said Dominic. “Your job right now, number eleven, is to go downstairs and end whatever fling you got with Amber.”

  Aaron’s heart stammered. “She’s here?”

  “And she shouldn’t be,” said Dominic. “If Clive comes back and finds both of you, you’re dead.”

  “So they’re halves, then?”

  “What’s it to you anyway?” said Dominic. “She’s not available. End of story.”

  “I’m just curious, I’m not interested in dating her.”

  “Oh yeah? And what was all that on the dance floor?” said Dominic.

  Aaron turned away, wishing Dominic hadn’t reminded him. “It was her idea,” he said.

  “I’m sure you begged her to stop.”

  He ignored the comment. “So are they really juvengamy halves?”

  Dominic laughed. “What moron told you that?”

  “On Clive’s dresser,” said Aaron, feeling a twinge of hope as he nodded to the sculpture through the doorway.

  “Yeah, he’s kind of twisted like that,” said Dominic, “but no, the Chamber hasn’t confirmed them yet. I don’t know their full story, but I do know they’re going in on their birthday just like everyone else. Now, go downstairs and deal with her . . . tell her you have rabies or something.”

  ***

  Aaron forgot Dominic’s request, though, when he found her biting her nails in an empty downstairs bedroom, her face hidden by her golden hair. Though she wasn’t a juvengamy baby—and Aaron was still shaky at the good news—he still had his doubts.

  When Amber saw him, she jumped up from the bed and tried without success to hide her relief. “What did Clive do to you?” she said.

  “I’m fine.” Aaron stopped right in front of her, and he felt the same rush he’d felt while they were dancing. Like the nervous, lightheaded excitement that comes on a roller coaster before the big drop.

  Aaron had to resist the temptation to move even closer. “Tell me the truth,” he said, “are you his half?”

  “I’m seventeen,” she said.

  It wasn’t even an answer. “Why is he making a collage of your face on his wall?”

  “He’s a family friend,” she said.

  “Who happens to be obsessed with you?”

  Amber smoothed her fingers slowly through her hair then let it swish back, fanning Aaron with the smell of her vanilla shampoo. “Isn’t that what boys do?” she said.

  “The sick ones.”

  “Maybe I take cute pictures,” she said.

  “Yeah, except most of them weren’t that cute.”

  She stared at him. “Aaron, what am I to you?”

  “I have no idea,” said Aaron. “We’re not friends, we’re not dating, and you don’t think we’re halves. Why don’t you make something up?”

  “You’re infuriating,” she said.

  Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Oh, but Clive’s no big deal?”

  “It was a compliment,” she said.

  “I’d hate to get an insult.”

  “You’re about to.”

  Her hair fell in front of her face again, and in a dizzy flash, Aaron realized he wanted her as close to him as possible—or as far as possible. Because one dance had burned the silky feel of her body right into his skin, and that was a clear sign he couldn’t trust himself around her. It was stupid to care this much; halves were predetermined.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this to each other,” he said finally, his conviction already wavering, “especially not a week out. We’ll know who it is on Saturday, so let’s just hunker down and wait.” He hated the way those words sounded.

  “Did Dominic tell you to say that?” she said.

  “He’s right,” said Aaron, “we’re just stringing each other along—and you should go before Clive gets back.”

  “I liked you better when you didn’t listen to anybody,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, I got smarter,” said Aaron, his throat tight as he held the door open for her. “Maybe I’ll see you in a week.”

  Amber shrugged and sauntered through the door, flinging her hair to the side so it whipped him in the face.

  “Classy,” he said.

  She paused in the doorway and locked eyes with him. “You won’t,” she said.

  “Won’t what?”

  “Ever see me again.”

  Aaron held her gaze. “Then you’re just going to have to miss me.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” she said, but instead of leaving, she just stood there—and Aaron felt the weight of their looming birthdays more than ever. Next time she would be with her half, he with his, and they wouldn’t even notice each other. Their pre-birthday fling would be as unmemorable as if it had happened in their mother’s womb. They couldn’t say goodbye like this.

  Aaron shut the door, and as if the sound had freed them both, he swept forward and she collapsed into his arms, tugging his shirt to her chest.

  Aaron wrapped his fingers around her hand, and she let go of his shirt to squeeze back. His lungs felt tight. It was the coolness of her skin, the bristles of electricity climbing his fingers, the shallow beat of his he
art.

  Staring into her green eyes, he knew they were about to kiss, and the rush made him dizzy. He could feel her heartbeat through her hand, like a butterfly’s wings. They moved closer.

  But just before their lips touched, the door burst open next to them, and Clive Selavio strode into the room.

  ***

  Aaron stepped in front of Amber to protect her. Clive, who hadn’t seen them yet, heard the movement and halted in the middle of the room, his shoulder’s flexed under his gray hoodie. He raised his head and sniffed the air, and as he faced them, Aaron caught a whiff of antiseptic—and saw why.

  Blood dripped from gashes under Clive’s eyes. Dark bruises gleamed with Neosporin, polished and shiny. He had been beaten.

  As Aaron watched, he touched his eye and caught a drop of blood, which crawled down his finger like a black beetle before his tongue flicked out and licked it clean. “Amber, I didn’t say you could be here,” he said.

  Aaron felt her tense beside him. “Isn’t that up to Dominic?” she said.

  “It’s up to me,” said Clive. “It’s what I let you do, and until you behave—”

  Aaron cut him off. “Buy a pet if you want to make rules, Clive.”

  Amber flashed him a warning look. “Don’t,” she said.

  “You’re wasting your breath,” said Clive. “Harper doesn’t know the negative command.”

  Amber glared at him. “Do you want me to get your father?” she said.

  At the mention of his dad, Clive flinched. “Amber, could you do me a favor and go home?” he said.

  Aaron starting rolling up his sleeves. “Wait outside,” he said to Amber. “This’ll just take a second,”

  Amber watched him nervously. “Aaron, you’ll lose,” she said, and then she left.

  Clive’s pale eyes tracked her out the door then flicked back to Aaron. “My father will see you now,” he said.

  “What the hell happened to you?” said Aaron, rolling his sleeves back down.

  Clive stepped toward him, and his eyes flashed treacherously. “I said my father will see you now. You wouldn’t want to be late for your appointment, would you?”

  ***

  Back upstairs, Aaron watched the quiet hallway from Clive’s bedroom. His heart thundered impatiently, and Amber’s playful smile winked at him from every wall, driving him crazy.

  Unable to bear it, he forced his eyes to the opposite wall, to a poster above Clive’s headboard. The famous photo of Schönbrunn Palace, Vienna. Taken 1939, when ninety thousand people packed the courtyard to learn the identity of their halves.

  The first generation.

  Aaron envied their pre-discovery lives. Everyone just living, loving whomever they pleased . . . sometimes loving no one . . . no ticking clock—

  There was a quiet knock at the door, and Aaron’s heart slapped against the inside of his chest. But the man who entered was nothing like what Aaron expected.

  Dr. Selavio ducked through the doorway, clipboard in hand, and stood to his full height; he nearly reached the ceiling. His white lab swished in behind him, parting to reveal a beige collared shirt and matching tie. His skin glowed bronze, and although his eyes sagged from lack of sleep, they were bright, heroic.

  Aaron breathed a sigh of relief.

  Dr. Selavio saw him turn away from the poster and grinned, revealing a wide, immaculate row of white teeth. “A world transformation in just a few years,” he said, nodding to the poster. “I pity all their lives before the discovery. All those wars and all that hatred. All that loneliness.” He reached out his hand. “Casler Selavio.”

  Aaron took his hand and felt calm wash over him. It was only after the handshake that he noticed the black flakes of blood on the man’s knuckles.

  Casler saw where he was looking and rested his hand out of view behind the clipboard.

  “I apologize for my son’s behavior this evening,” he said. “He has trouble coping with his condition, and he often lashes out. It’s always something. Lately, he’s been sneaking off with my things.” He scanned the room before his eyes settled on Aaron again. “In fact, I don’t mean to pry, but has he ever showed you anything curious?”

  “Curious?” said Aaron. “Like what?”

  “Perhaps a vial?” he said.

  Aaron swallowed. “What was in the vial?”

  Casler just smiled. “You will tell me if that vial turns up, won’t you?”

  Aaron nodded.

  “Excellent,” said Dr. Selavio, beaming at him. “Now about what happened to you tonight . . . ” He scanned his clipboard. “Clive discovered his ability to inflict pain on others a few years ago, quite by chance, actually. We’ve seen counselors about it, and by now, he knows the risks of permanent injury, both to himself and his victims. His slipup tonight was unacceptable.”

  “How does he do it?” said Aaron.

  The corner of Casler’s mouth twitched. “Sadly, my son’s connection to his half is weak,” he said. “The attractive forces that hold his clairvoyant channel together tend to drift. When he touched you in just the right spot, those loose forces tugged at your channel and caused you tremendous pain—and in your case, knocked you out. Your reaction did concern me a little, so I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty to examine you earlier.” Casler nodded and glanced up, his eyebrows low and brooding. “What troubles me, Aaron, is that curious lump of scar tissue you have blocking your channel.”

  Aaron was used to hearing bad news from doctors, and he zoned out most of what Casler said, but this surprised him. “How’d you figure it out so fast?” he said. “You can’t possibly have an MRI machine here?”

  With a smile, Dr. Selavio reached out and bent Aaron’s head sideways. “Ever felt pain in this spot before?” he said, his thick finger probing the back of Aaron’s skull.

  “Sometimes,” said Aaron, suppressing the urge to shiver.

  “I understand you and Clive share the same birthday,” he said. “You must be excited.”

  “Yeah,” said Aaron, unnerved as Casler continued to feel around the back of his head, “just about as excited as anyone with a blocked channel can be.”

  “Hmm—” Casler pulled his hand back. “With your permission, Aaron, I’d like to run a simple test to see what we’re dealing with here. I’ve got some equipment down in the cellar.”

  “What kind of test?” said Aaron, wondering if Justin Gorski had ended up in Dominic’s cellar after his “appointment.”

  “There’s something about that scar tissue that really troubles me,” he said. “I’m actually not authorized to test minors, but since this is a private home—and since you only have a week until your eighteenth birthday anyway—I’m willing to make an exception. I’d like to reveal the identity of your half.”

  ***

  Aaron’s eagerness to know his half switched to utter dread when he stepped into the musty wine cellar ahead of Dr. Selavio and saw the tripod-mounted, powder-white glass globe affixed with an orbiting brass scope.

  Aaron had only seen them in pictures. Now he was looking at a real one—an aitherscope—a device that used a property of fused quartz to allow a viewer to peer inside his own clairvoyant channel, thereby revealing his half. They were rare, and you had to be licensed by the Chamber of Halves to even own one. Now, faced with the truth so soon, Aaron wished he still had a week-long buffer. Yet he couldn’t resist his morbid curiosity.

  Up close, the contraption smelled like rubbing alcohol, and Aaron saw why the globe looked opaque from across the room. There were millions of web-like cracks spreading out from its core. Aaron felt the urge to look away from the glass, as if he was staring someone in the eye.

  A data cable ran from the back of the aitherscope to an open laptop on a stool. Dr. Selavio unlocked the eyepiece with a key and slid it along two concentric, grooved tracks, one labeled with the month and day, the other with the year. He clicked it into place at the intersection of March 30th and the year Aaron was born.

  “Go ahead
and peer through the eyepiece,” said Dr. Selavio. He pulled a pen from his breast pocket and leveled his clipboard. “It’s streaming video, so I’ll have the same image on my laptop.”

  “And what am I supposed to see?” said Aaron.

  “Should be an image of your half’s eyes—her iris pattern, essentially. Sort of like a fingerprint. Once we get a clear picture, we’ll get it analyzed.”

  Amber’s green eyes flashed in Aaron’s mind before he could stop himself, and he wasn’t prepared for the nervous rush that shook his body. He stepped up to the brass eyepiece, and his heartbeat ratcheted up. He was scared to look, scared of what he might see—or might not see. He inhaled slowly, but his pulse kept climbing. Maybe just a quick glance. He leaned forward, closed one eye, and touched his eyebrow to the cold brass.

  Aaron blinked, and a white circle filled his vision, cracks whizzed out of view. Then it went dark. He shifted to get a better angle.

  “It’s a piece of junk, it’s all black—”

  Just then an image flashed into focus. He saw threads of white static, so bright they stung his retinas. Aaron shoved the eyepiece aside, head spinning, and staggered backwards. A throbbing pain gnawed at the back of his skull. He clutched his scalp.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” he said. “It’s broken!”

  “Why, what did you see?” said Casler, glancing between Aaron and the laptop screen, now blank.

  “Nothing,” said Aaron, “just static.”

  Dr. Selavio’s eyebrows shot up, almost to his hairline. He scribbled something on the clipboard.

  Aaron leaned forward to see what it was, but Casler tilted the clipboard away from him, still writing. “I’m sure Clive’s explained my work,” he said.

  “Actually, I’m confused,” said Aaron, and he pulled out the crumpled appointment reminder. “What is Abnormal Obstetrics anyway?”

  Casler continued his frenzied notes. “Think of me as a plumber,” he said, “I fix leaks in the clairvoyant channel. Mainly, I deal with childbirth, since virtually all abnormalities in the clairvoyant channel originate during its formation at birth.”