Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance)

by Dan Rix

  “Shhh—” Casler squeezed Aaron tighter and stroked his forehead, smoothing back his sweaty hair. “It’s okay,” he said. Then he carried him to Amber’s side.

  “She’s going to be fine,” he whispered. “Look—here she is.”

  And there she was, in a lake of blonde hair—all strapped in. Her eyes glittered under the halogen lamps, the most dazzling green Aaron had ever seen.

  They stared at each other. Too afraid to look away. Amber mouthed, “I love you.” He mouthed it back.

  Forty-five seconds.

  “The potentate gets to keep the part we take out,” said Casler. “We’ll have Amber present the vial herself, as a gift. The potentate will be so proud of her.”

  Aaron tore at Casler’s knuckles, but it was like scratching steel poles.

  “Hold her hand,” said Casler, and he yanked Aaron’s wrist down and forced their hands together. Through her palm, Aaron could feel her shivering.

  The machine’s whine was quieter now, hypersonic.

  “Clive, how much time?” said Casler.

  “Forty seconds.”

  “Aaron—” Casler breathed into his ear. “Stay with me for forty seconds. Look into her eyes. Imagine how beautiful she’ll be without flaws.”

  Amber squeezed his hand, and they never broke eye contact. They couldn’t.

  Thirty-five seconds.

  He felt Casler’s head turn. “Four degrees, Clive—counter-clockwise.”

  “How can you tell? Let me check the laptop.”

  “Just do it,” said Casler. “We want a nice clean hole so too much doesn’t leak out. She should be fashionably obedient, not brain dead.”

  Thirty seconds.

  Then her eyes would wink out. And that would be the last thing Aaron saw before he died.

  ***

  But a lot can happen in thirty seconds.

  Clive never made the adjustment he was supposed to—the four degrees bit. Amber glanced in his direction, and her eyes widened. Aaron heard the thump.

  He and Casler turned at the same time, as Clive collapsed, unconscious. A purple line of cuts bled above his ear, as if his scalp had been stamped.

  Then a figure appeared behind Casler, and suddenly Aaron was free. He landed on solid ground and spun.

  But it wasn’t Dominic, and it wasn’t his parents. It wasn’t even Tina.

  It was Buff Normandy.

  ***

  All six-four, two hundred and forty pounds of him. The white Pueblo Rugby logo glowed on his sweatshirt as he pried Casler’s arms off Aaron’s throat, his eyes fierce.

  “No more bullshit,” he said, then he slammed his fist into Casler’s jaw—brass knuckles and all.

  Casler’s head whipped sideways, and his surgical mask snapped free. Blood sprayed everywhere. And only then did Aaron see the damage he had caused him earlier with the monitor.

  His lips were shredded, split open. Foaming.

  But Casler moved fast, terrifyingly fast. He dropped his shoulder and plowed Buff into the desk, snapped it clear in half. But Buff wasn’t the best rugby player in the league for no reason; his feet were quick. Casler went down first. Buff and Aaron descended on him together.

  Buff landed his second blow—and winced. He must have punched wrong, because he rolled off to the side and massaged his fingers. Casler rose from the haze of splinters, his thick limbs swaying like battering rams. But Aaron was there. He thrust down his elbow, nearly broke it on Casler’s skull. The man grunted.

  Twenty five seconds.

  “Buddy, hold his arms!” said Buff, sliding the knuckles onto his other hand.

  “Not happening—”

  Casler’s fist struck Aaron’s chest, and he felt his feet leave the ground. He landed on his back and gasped for air.

  Casler leaned over him, his face twisted and bloody, and actually held out his hand.

  “How about we talk this out?” he said. “Call off your friend.”

  “Stop the machine,” Aaron spat.

  “Aaron, you’re dying,” said Casler.

  “You first,” said Aaron.

  Twenty seconds.

  Casler tried to smile, but his shredded, foaming lip twisted his face. Blood collected in his laugh lines. “You and Amber would have been perfect together,” he said proudly. “So obstinate—”

  The machine roared. They looked up at the same time. Something was off.

  Because Clive hadn’t made the adjustment—the four degrees counter clockwise. The field drifted. It was a feedback loop. Once unstable, it slipped. Four degrees became five, then six. Then ten.

  A grinding screech of metal split the air. The cavern lurched, then sank a whole foot. The ground tilted, and racks of beakers slid away, capsized. Bottles exploded in fumes.

  Yet the machine stayed statue-still, its edges solid, anchored. It was everything else that shook.

  Casler stumbled towards the machine. Aaron grabbed his ankle and yanked him back, got a mouthful of boot heel. More blood.

  Once again, he found himself on the floor, his cheek cemented to frozen stone. Clive’s body—Aaron blinked. Clive’s body was gone.

  But there was something else right in front of him. An inch from his nose, still bloody. Dominic’s switchblade.

  The hilt felt good in his palm.

  Casler stepped up to the machine and closed his fingers around the wheel. But Buff tackled him, crunched his face into the floor, and delivered two left-handed punches, his fists a blur. The brass knuckles ripped into Casler’s scalp, muddied his skin into red pulp. One more would kill him.

  Aaron rose to his feet. He could smell the high voltage, the raw odor of ozone. Arcs of electricity splayed tendril-like from the machine’s core, sizzled, and vaporized. His hairs lifted and pointed toward the operating table, where Amber lay perfectly still, watching it all in horror.

  Maybe the machine would break. Maybe she would be safe.

  Maybe it would screw her up worse.

  Fifteen seconds.

  He had to free her. Or shut it down.

  To his left, Buff raised his arm, torqued his body, and took aim for the brittle part of Casler’s skull. This one would kill him.

  Except Buff never landed his punch.

  The halogen lights died, blackness swallowed them. Clive, in the shadows. Buff missed his target, and Aaron heard the scrape, then his friend’s yelp as his fist struck bedrock.

  But there was still light from the dimmer bulbs. Aaron’s eyes adjusted, and he saw Casler rise again. His wounds steamed and tinted the air deep crimson. Casler gripped the wheel. He was going to right the machine.

  Aaron jumped on him. He landed on his back, looped his arm around his neck, and pulled the switchblade as hard as he could. The knife sank an inch into Casler’s throat, then stopped, as if he’d reached steel cable. Warm blood spilled down his wrist, but it wasn’t enough. Aaron dropped the switchblade, and it clinked on the stone—he couldn’t do it.

  Casler fell to his knees, and saliva dribbled down his lip. “Tell my son to be patient and loving,” he gurgled. “She’ll be completely helpless at first—”

  Aaron grabbed the switchblade and finished the job, and Casler collapsed dead at his feet.

  Ten seconds.

  Above the machine, the cave ceiling liquefied and rippled. Over the operating table, a blue arc of electricity hissed from the tip of the metal spike, coiled through the air and slithered, snakelike, towards Amber’s head. She watched it grow, trembling, her eyes wet and terrified. It brushed her cheek, and she squirmed against the straps, pressing herself flat.

  But there was nowhere to go. The blue tendril slithered through her hair towards the back of her head, singing the blonde strands in its path.

  Aaron flung himself to her side.

  Her eyes lit up. “Aaron—” she moaned.

  “Buff,” he yelled, “turn it off!”

  Five seconds.

  The movement of Aaron’s hands was flawless, precise. The blade cut true. One
strap, then another. He was the best setter in the league, after all.

  Buff grabbed the giant switch on the machine, and he screamed. He yanked his hand back as putrid smoke poured from its socket.

  Fourseconds.

  “It’s all melted—” yelled Buff.

  “Help me get her out!”

  Three seconds.

  Aaron stole a glance at her. She was staring into his eyes, calming herself by it. Biting her lip.

  Then her head was free and she skirted away from the blue snake. It followed her.

  Two seconds.

  Buff appeared at his side, wheezing, and grabbed the straps around her waist. His knuckles whitened.

  But he couldn’t possibly tear them with his bare hands, not a chance—yet the fabric splayed. His arms flexed, blood dripped from his palms onto her stomach, and then the strap tore completely. He’d done it.

  One second.

  That left one more strap to cut, and then she could slip free. Aaron had the tip of the knife at its edge. She was going to make it out—

  Then Aaron felt Clive’s hot breath on the back of his neck, his cold finger on the back of his scalp. And Aaron’s limbs turned to mush.

  Just one more strap. But he didn’t have it in him.

  Clive reached around him, calmly took the knife from Aaron’s hand, and plunged it into his stomach. Slippery blood gushed over his hands.

  Clive’s voice rasped in his ear. “She’s mine, Harper!”

  Zero.

  Amber was still strapped in.

  The machine ground to a sickening halt, and they were plunged into silence. Then there was only the ringing in Aaron’s ears, like the gentle beat of an insect’s wings.

  The electric arc coiled, flickered neon blue, then sank into the back of Amber’s head.

  ***

  Aaron tried to block it, but there was nothing to block. The electricity slipped through his fingers and stung her.

  He watched her eyes widen with panic, then confusion. She writhed, twisted against the strap as the arc of electricity groped inside her for the opening.

  Then pierced it.

  The tendril pulled out of her head slowly like a long, thin fang. A single drop of blood sizzled at the tip and then evaporated.

  Her channel had a hole now.

  Like Aaron’s. She grabbed his hand, and their gazes locked. Her insides were being drawn toward the back of her head. But unlike Aaron, she wouldn’t be allowed to die completely. They would reseal her . . . half empty.

  She struggled to hold his gaze.

  Buff grabbed his shoulder; he hadn’t seen Clive. “You’re bleeding!”

  Aaron ignored him. Amber’s grip slackened, and her eyeballs rolled to the side, unfocused.

  “Amber—” he croaked.

  “Buddy, you can’t save her,” said Buff. “I’m taking you out of here!”

  Then Aaron collapsed, and his cheek struck frozen stone. And Amber’s limp fingers slipped from his hand.

  Before he lost consciousness, he saw Clive out of the corner of his eye, his arm inside the machine.

  Clive pulled out a quartz vial, four inches long and rounded on both ends. The red fluid dimmed before their eyes—the clairvoyance from Amber, from his own half.

  Clive’s hands trembled, and the vial tumbled from his fingers. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.

  The machine had cut out too much.

  ***

  There was a moment Aaron would remember afterwards when he was taken over by a feeling that had no self-consciousness. Five days ago, in her bedroom, dust floated between orange shafts of sunlight, blazing like flecks of magnesium. Amber slid closer to him. Their faces were inches apart. Up close, her eyes were layered, freckled like jade crystals.

  She was right.

  In five days, something would be missing. In five days, his connection to his half would be uncertain, unlikely even. In five days, his channel to his half might not even exist.

  But Amber was real now.

  ***

  A white room.

  Aaron yanked aside a bed sheet and sat up into a beam of sunlight, and he felt the knife wound twist in his stomach.

  He was in a hospital bed closed in by white curtains. Buff was wedged in a tiny chair by the window, watching him carefully.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Buddy?”

  “What the hell is that look?” said Aaron.

  He sighed relief. “I thought you were toast.”

  Aaron touched the back of his head. Not even a scab. How was he still alive? Later. “Where’s Amber?”

  “Buddy, uh—” Buff lowered his eyes, “listen—”

  “She’s okay, right?”

  “We ran out of time,” Buff said quietly.

  “But—” Aaron paused, and his throat kinked up as those terrifying last few seconds replayed in his mind. “I . . . I couldn’t cut the last strap.”

  “No one could have,” said Buff.

  “Where is she?”

  He shook his head.

  Aaron closed his eyes and counted to five, but nothing changed. No—he leapt off the bed, swatted the curtain aside, and hurled through the sterile corridors. He spun around a corner and collided with a nurse.

  He grabbed her arm. “Where is she?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Amber Lilian—where? Quickly!”

  “D-d-down the hall,” she said.

  He sprinted, and his heart thudded in the pit of his stomach. He pushed through another curtain, and there she was. Unconscious, pale, wrapped in sheets.

  The steady beep of her heart monitor was the only sign of life. He moved into Amber’s room and knelt by the bed. She appeared normal, untouched. Perfect. The ordeal could have been a dream.

  A stiff hand landed on his shoulder. He whipped around, ready to fight.

  ***

  It was Dominic, badly bruised. “He’s dead,” he said, coming in to stand next to Aaron. “They’re collecting his body.”

  “Dr. Selavio. I know. I killed him,” said Aaron.

  “No, Clive.”

  Aaron stared at him. “Clive’s dead?”

  “The machine was off balance. Apparently, it severed his half completely.”

  “Why didn’t he stop it? He knew what it was doing to her.”

  “I think he wanted more of her clairvoyance. We found him with the vial. He must have thought he could drink it or something—”

  “I don’t care what he thought.” Aaron fell to his knees again beside Amber. “Just tell me she’s okay.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you.”

  Even though the words sank in, there was nowhere for them to go, no place in his brain where they made any sense. They were in love with each other. Everything was perfect. It was all a bad dream.

  He kissed her forehead, and the salty taste of her skin seared his lips. “We’re going to make it out of this okay, I promise,” he said. “Just open your eyes—” That was when he noticed the odor of singed hair rising off her pillow. A spasm shot through his lungs. “Amber—”

  The beep of her heart monitor continued, unfluctuating, mechanical, without a jitter to indicate she knew he was there. He realized he was crying when a tear fell on her sheets.

  “Amber, please—” A heaving in his chest sealed his lungs and choked off his words, silencing him. His hands trembled.

  Dominic grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t do this to yourself, number eleven. You know as well as I do what happened. Even if she wakes up, there’s not going to be much left. She’s severed.”

  Aaron swatted his hand away. “Can’t you just leave us alone for two fucking seconds!” Tears burned in his eyes. He turned his back on the rugby player and wiped them away. “Wait outside,” he said, failing to keep his voice even. “I just want to be alone with her right now.”

  Dominic retreated a few feet behind him.

  Shivering now, Aaron studied the curvature of Amber’s cheeks, glistening and sweaty, statue-still;
her eyelids, still closed. And he would have given anything to see them open, to see the spark in her green eyes one more time. “I couldn’t cut the last strap,” he whispered. “I couldn’t get it in time.” Another spasm shot through him. “Amber, all you have to do is open your eyes.”

  His closed his fists on the sheets to stop his hands from shaking. Another teardrop tumbled into the fabric. He folded the damp spot under, and he felt the material rip under his thumbs. Aaron cupped his hands over his face, loathing each breath that slipped through his fingers, giving him life that didn’t belong to him. Life he should have given to Amber.

  It was impossible to think that he would have to go on without her, that she could just be gone. She looked fine, untouched. Aaron turned to Dominic, his sinuses ringing. The ceiling reeled above him. Gone.

  “Why didn’t Clive stop it?” he said. “He was supposed to be her half, why didn’t he try to save her?” Aaron sniffled. “And why isn’t he here right now?”

  “He’s dead, fuckface, they took his body.”

  “Who took it?”

  “It was that guy we met. The Brotherhood’s not going to be happy about losing Dr. Selavio and their heir, trust me.”

  “What guy we met?” said Aaron. “Quit sidestepping and spit it out.”

  “Chill. It was that priest,” said Dominic. “Dravin, I think.”

  The curtain rustled, and Buff squeezed into the room, followed by Tina.

  “Friends and family only,” Dominic muttered.

  Buff walked past him and elbowed him in the head. “Whoops.”

  Dominic spun, grabbed Buff’s collar, and had his fist cocked behind him when Amber stirred.

  Her eyelashes fluttered. Everyone held their breath. A nurse entered to check her vitals. He paused and watched her too.

  Amber’s eyes opened. She sat up, blinked, and stared around at her visitors.

  Aaron bit his lip so hard he drew blood. His heart thundered against his eardrums, making him wince with every beat.

  “Amber,” he said, “are you—are you—”

  Then she wrapped her hands around his neck, leaned forward, and gave him a long, passionate kiss on the mouth. Right in front of everybody. His lips caught fire.

  The nurse did a double take, checked his clipboard, then stood awkwardly in the corner—because he was witnessing a girl kiss a boy who was not her half.