Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,37

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 30th 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 deathobserved 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 30th, 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