Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,58
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.