Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,72
it probably would have been enough to convince the world—
A chill pierced Aaron’s spine, and his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Of course. It had convinced the world. Eighteen years ago, Dr. Selavio did exactly that to Amber and Clive. He used the machine on both of them, severed them both from their original halves and made them snap together. They were fakes, just like Amber said. Clive’s first half must have died. In response, the Juvengamy Brotherhood chose a pureblood replacement that would make him heir: Amber Lilian.
But Amber’s true half was Aaron.
So why didn’t he die? Once severed from Amber, Aaron should have lost clairvoyance fast, like Emma—a vegetable just days after she was severed. Maybe his severed channel had scarred over, sealing the leak, while Emma’s had not. At least that would explain the scar tissue at the back of his brain . . .
***
Aaron skidded to a stop in front of his house and ran inside. The Monday morning sun burned streaks along his wall. He yanked out drawers and tore through his clothes, searching. Searching for what?
What the hell could he even do?
His eyes darted to his cell phone, still plugged in. Now fully charged. And still off. His cell phone had been off since his birthday, and he hadn’t even checked his messages.
Aaron pounced on it, flipped open the screen, and waited for the messages to flash.
Two new voicemails.
He held the phone to his ear and listened to the first message from Buff. Apparently, Buff saw how it was and he didn’t want to be best friends anymore either. Aaron closed his eyes and waited for the second message.
His heart pulsed against the plastic. When he swallowed, his clammy cheek smeared against the phone’s screen. Aaron’s heart had almost scuttled up his throat and into his mouth by the time the message finally played.
It was Amber, breathless, on the verge of tears. Terrified. “Aaron, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, I’m so sorry . . . you have to run away—” She was cut off.
Aaron shoved the phone against his ear, and the plastic dug into his skin. He wanted to hear everything—the brush of her cheek against the speaker, her heartbeat, the flutter of her eyelashes.
But it was Clive’s voice that stabbed his eardrum.
“Aaron Harper,” his voice drawled. “I do hope you get this message, for Amber’s sake. She agreed to do some things for me she isn’t proud of, just so she could call you—and you didn’t even pick up.”
The line clicked. Then silence—silence, leaking into his ears like the frozen, endless vacuum of outer space.
End of new messages.
Aaron closed the phone slowly. Every fiber in his muscles had gone limp.
***
Aaron called her phone.
It rang once, beeped, and then a recorded voice said, “We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service . . . ”
Aaron’s hand trembled as he ended the call.
He dialed Clive’s number, but Clive didn’t pick up. He called from his dad’s phone, from his house phone. But he knew it was pointless. Aaron jammed his cell phone into his pocket and paced his room. Each time his volleyball got in the way, he kicked it as hard as he could.
Then he yanked his phone right back out and jabbed the buttons with his thumb. His heart clanged as he scrolled down his list of contacts.
He paused at Dominic Brees, not sure why he even had the guy’s number. Maybe Dominic knew where they were.
Aaron took a deep breath and dialed the rugby player. He lifted the phone to his ear. Two rings—three rings—It felt heavy now, unwieldy—four rings—five rings—
“Who the hell is this?” said Dominic.
“Put Clive on the phone,” said Aaron. “I want to talk to him.”
A pause. “You’re too late, number eleven. They’re not here anymore.”
His heart sank. “Where are they? Is . . . is Amber okay?”
“You know, there’s a rumor going around, number eleven . . . people saying they can’t find your half or something—Dr. Selavio won’t shut up about it. He keeps saying he can help you.”
“He can start by making me and Amber halves again.”
Aaron heard a girl’s whiny voice in the background, then Dominic snapping at her. “Hang on,” he said to Aaron, “Tina wants to talk to you.”
“Who?”
“Tina Marcello, fuckface.”
There was a long pause. Aaron clamped his cell phone even tighter and pain shot down his ear. A moment later, Tina spoke.