Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,84

scrambled for a reason—any reason—to trust him.

“You’d really put Clive in the machine?” said Aaron.

“All I need is a tiny sample of that scar tissue so he’ll survive without a half.”

“No way. You’re not drilling a hole through my head.”

Casler chuckled. “That was for the autopsy, Aaron. It’s a noninvasive procedure. I’m going to give you an injection that dissolves some of that scar tissue into your bloodstream. Then, all I need to do is draw a sample of your blood. Then you’re free to go . . . and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“That’s it? Just two shots?”

“Just two shots.”

Aaron considered the risks. When it was explained like that, his doubts seemed absurd. All the guy wanted was a sample of the scar tissue; he had made that clear from the beginning. If Aaron complied just this once, it would at least get the guy off his back and buy him more time with Amber. Also, he would force the doctor to show his hand. The worst Casler could do, short of injecting him with poison, would be to tranquilize him and strap him into the machine anyway. And Aaron wasn’t that stupid.

He felt his mouth widen into a smirk. “I’ll do it on one condition,” he said. “You inject yourself first.”

Casler peered into his eyes, then ruffled Aaron’s hair with his palm. “Gladly. I think this is the right thing to do, Aaron.”

And Aaron knew it wasn’t.

“Any allergies I should know of?” said Casler, as he rummaged through his medical bag. His voice was deep and soothing behind the mask. He was a doctor, after all.

Aaron shook his head, gaping in disbelief as the doctor filled two syringes with a clear liquid. This was actually happening.

“Okay, I’m injecting myself.” Casler rolled his sleeve up to his elbow, plunged one of the needles into his own forearm, and drained the plunger. Then he lifted the second needle.

Aaron swallowed hard, wishing he hadn’t agreed to this, and averted his eyes as Casler rolled up his sleeve.

“There—” Aaron hardly felt the prick. Then Casler daubed his arm with a cotton ball and slapped on a bandage. “Give that a few minutes. Then we’ll draw the blood.”

Clive limped into the dungeon, his cheeks scratched up and swollen.

Dr. Selavio stared at his son. “Was she too much for you to handle?” he sneered.

“No, Father.”

“If you ever embarrass me like that in front of company again—”

“I’m sorry, Father,” he said.

“Learn to discipline your half,” said Dr. Selavio. “I didn’t give her to you as a toy.”

Clive’s pale eyes flicked to the machine, still humming in the background.

The chemical was taking effect. Suddenly woozy, Aaron lowered himself to the floor. A thousand suns wobbled above him, the quartz-halogen lamps. Their blue glare pierced his pupils.

“I want more,” Clive blurted out, his eyes still on the machine.

“More of what?”

“More of her clairvoyance.”

“You have enough,” said Casler. “Now help me start the machine.”

Aaron stared at his hands. They had paled to the color of frost. He felt his own blood pooling at the back of his head, as if he was hanging upside down. Meanwhile, Casler barked orders to his son, completely unperturbed. The stuff was only affecting Aaron. God damn it.

“Alright Clive—” Casler wheeled a chair in front of his laptop and typed something fast. The screen spit out line after line of green code. “Let’s spin.”

At the machine, Clive coiled his fingers around a massive switch and shoved. At first it didn’t budge. The tendons bulged in his forearms, and his shoulder trembled with exertion. Then the switch chunked into place.

The halogen lights dimmed, sputtered, then failed completely. They were plunged into midnight.

Aaron’s blood continued to pool at the back of his skull. He wanted to scratch it, but where? The itch was inside him.

The lights flickered back on.

Then the oscillations began.

From the machine’s belly, the first revolution struck Aaron’s chest like a shockwave and knocked the breath out of him. It echoed off the granite walls. The second revolution hit his skull, the third his heart. Faster and faster. The machine revved up, growled.

The bulbs rattled in their aluminum funnels. Dust and bits of granite sprinkled from the ceiling. The revolutions blurred into a deafening drone. The pitch climbed.

“Clockwise—two degrees,” Dr. Selavio shouted to Clive. Meanwhile, his fingers blurred across the keyboard. “Keep the field stable.”

Clive spun a wheel on the side of the machine.

Aaron stared at its looming mass. Its edges flickered, blurry, sometimes not even there. Sweat dripped into his mouth.