chapter FOUR
7 Days, 11 hours, 29 minutes
Outside, the cold, salty breeze stung his eyes, blurred his vision. Dominic and Clive were leaned over on either side of his Mazda, their arms flexed on the inside of the frame. They had turned the car around, and now they were picking up speed, jogging toward the end of the pier where white foam frothed up onto the planks.
Aaron unclasped his fingers from Amber’s hand and started after them—and slipped, slamming his face into wet, slimy wood. He jumped back to his feet.
“Turn it right,” Dominic yelled, nearly running now. “Turn the wheel right!”
The car veered left. “I said right!”
They jumped away from the car, just as Aaron shot past them. He sprinted for the driver’s side, where the door swung open. Salt clogged his nostrils, his thighs burned.
It was rolling twenty miles per hour into the wind, and there was forty feet of pier left. He couldn’t gain on it.
But he loved this car.
Aaron took one more step and lunged, grabbed the frame. The door slammed on his fingers, but he held on. The car bounced, and he got his other hand on the door and swung himself into the driver’s seat.
Now he was inside a car barreling toward the edge of a pier with twenty feet left before blackness.
Now what?
He yanked the emergency brake and jammed his foot down on the brake pedal. It was stiff; they were hydraulic brakes which hardly worked when the engine was off. He pushed harder, strained against the ceiling for leverage. The car slowed, barely.
“Buddy, get out of the car!” he heard Buff yell from somewhere far behind him.
To Aaron, it seemed to take a whole minute with his leg flexed, foot crushing the pedal, before his bumper crashed through the railing. Splinters scraped the windshield, the car pitched forward. The sea rose before him, white caps churning in the darkness, and he felt the undercarriage grind off the edge of the pier. Then everything stopped.
Balanced on the edge of the pier, the car had stopped. Aaron let out his breath.
Buff ran up and yanked the door open. “No bullshit,” he yelled, dragging Aaron out of his seat.
After the two of them heaved the car back onto the pier, Aaron noticed the driver’s side door hung looser than before. He pried the panel off the underside of the steering column and started twisting wires together. Since he lost the keys last summer, he had to hotwire the thing every time he wanted to start it.
The engine sputtered, and all the warning lights flashed. Aaron sighed and let the engine die.
He didn’t have to check under the hood; the oil pooling under the car gave it away: a cracked oil pan. Behind him, Amber was demanding that Clive and Dominic give them a lift home.
“Are you crazy?” said Dominic, pointing to the bloody wads of toilet paper stuffed up his nose. “Look!”
“Wow,” she said, “you’re comparing a nosebleed to almost killing him.”
“Why don’t you drive him if you’re so concerned?”
Her eyes flashed in Aaron’s direction, suddenly fearful. “Because I don’t want to,” she said.
“Make him walk,” said Clive.
“How about I just tell your father?” she said
Clive went pale.
And that settled it.
***
Aaron knew it was a bad idea, but they were fresh out of options. The buses didn’t run past ten, and after paying twenty each to get inside the Pelican, he and Buff couldn’t pool enough for a cab. Nor did Aaron have any intention of waking his parents, as that would lead to too many questions.
Aaron didn’t bother saying goodbye to Amber. There was something in that last look she had given him that seemed to erase everything that had happened on the dance floor.
“Anything happens, we got each other’s backs,” Aaron murmured, as he and Buff slid into the backseat of Dominic’s beamer, behind the guys who had just tried to sink Aaron’s Mazda in the Pacific Ocean.
“Always, Buddy.”
“Let’s take these f*ckfaces home,” said Dominic, once they were all in the car.
“I bet you know where I live,” said Buff, “since you egged my house fifty times.”
Dominic spun around. “Make one more sound, Normandy, and you will not make it home alive.”
“What are you going to do, Breezie, call another bullshit play like you did back in the Junior League rugby championships?”
“I was right with you,” said Dominic. “We could have scored and you know it.”
“Yeah, if you listened to me.”
“There were scouts that day,” said Dominic. “I’d be playing for the Eagles right now.”
“A prissyboy like you?” said Buff. “Go play football if you want to be a hero.”
“Both of you shut it!” said Aaron, feeling things were escalating.
Buff was talking about an old offshoot of rugby that died off in the thirties, during the exchange of international culture that followed the discovery of halves. The tougher, more dynamic rugby had won out.
They dropped Buff off first. Dominic rolled down the window, sniffed, and spat bloody snot at him—and then Aaron was alone.
“Now you have to fix my oil pan too,” he said to Clive, sounding braver than he felt.
“You knew how it was,” said Clive. “You knew what I had with Amber.”
“Actually, I’m still confused.”
“Didn’t she tell you the truth?”
“That’s not why she ran after me.”
Clive’s lips whitened. “She’s my half,” he said. “And if you touch her again—”
“You’re seventeen,” said Aaron. “You don’t know who your half is.”
“I thought we’d be past this by now, Harper.”
Aaron leaned forward. “How about when you kiss her?” he said. “Does she kiss back like a real half?”
It struck a nerve, and once again, Aaron wished he’d kept his stupid mouth shut. Clive swiveled his body and clamped his hands around Aaron’s throat, digging his fingers into his jugular.
Dominic slammed on the brakes. “Clive!”
Aaron clawed his face, but the guy held on.
“Clive, let him go!” Dominic yelled.
Aaron’s felt dizzy, and he was only half-aware of Dominic trying to drag Clive off of him. He was more focused on Clive’s hand as it reached around his head, his thin fingers probing the back of his scalp—until he touched the farthest point back.
As if he’d pressed a button, the strength deflated from every muscle in Aaron’s body, and the last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the pain, like molten lead dripping into his brain through the back of his head—that and wishing he’d had more time to live.
Because he really wanted to see Amber again.
***
After Amber dropped off Tina Marcello, she drove home, relieved she wouldn’t have to deal with Clive after what happened with Aaron—and convinced Aaron had been put into her life just to tempt her.
The drive home was miserable. The smell of Aaron’s sweat was all over her body, in her hair, and she couldn’t breathe without tasting him. She needed boiling water, shampoo, a loofah, maybe even scented bath salts to get rid of it—but then she had a crazy and exhilarating thought.
If she didn’t shower, if she went to bed just like this, she could fall asleep to his smell. She could sleep the entire night with a constant reminder of him, and nobody would ever know her secret. The notion gave her such an intense, nervous rush that she immediately felt herself blushing—and was furious with herself.
As if she would ever fall asleep like that.
As it was, she would have enough trouble forgetting the feel of his torso through a thin cotton T-shirt.
Amber sighed and closed her eyes. She couldn’t allow herself to see him again, not after tonight. And that was how it should be. She loved Clive.
Her cell phone rang . . . Dominic’s ringtone. Feeling faint, Amber answered her phone,
“What now?” she said.
“Your lucky number eleven is unconscious,” he said.
It took Amber a moment. “What?”
“Selavio pulled the same exact shit he did with Gorski,” he said. “Remember at school?”
“Where is he?” said Amber, swerving briefly into oncoming traffic.
“Selavio? I left him by the side of the road, he’s still walking back—”
“No, where’s Aaron?”
“Never gave me his address. I brought him back to my house.”
“I’m coming over,” said Amber, and she squealed to a stop before he could tell her no. There were honks behind her. As she turned around, her insides felt prickly and cold. This was her fault.
At every high school she attended, Clive did things to boys if they so much as glanced at her in the hallway. Yeah, it was frustrating enough that every boy she dated was too scared to acknowledge her existence in public, but she should have known Aaron would be much worse. He tried to piss off Clive.
After she parked up his driveway, Dominic stopped her at the door. Amber was breathless for a second, thinking it was Aaron.
“You probably shouldn’t be here,” he said, “at least not until Clive gets back. I don’t want him thinking anything.”
“Where is he?”
“I left him down by the freeway.”
“I mean Aaron.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed at her. “Amber, why do you do this to Clive?”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because his father is an incredibly talented doctor, whom I’m honored to have as a guest in my house—and he’s asked me to look after his son,” he said.
“Well,” she said, “you’re not doing a very good job of it, are you?”
“Just give Clive what he wants.”
“And what does he want, Dominic?”
“He wants you.”
“Doesn’t he already have me?” she said.
“You could be better about it,” he said.
She pushed past him. “Just let me see him.”
He chased her and grabbed her arm. “You can’t right now,” he said
“Is he alright?” she said, sounding more concerned than she would have liked.
“He’s being examined,” said Dominic stiffly.
Her eyes widened. “By—by Clive’s father?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” said Dominic. “He wouldn’t wake up.”
***
Aaron opened his eyes on a bed in a room he didn’t recognize. The air tasted sour, prickly. Like static electricity and stale glue.
He felt the back of his head, but there was no more pain. Had Clive pulled some kind of Ju-Jitsu move on him?
Aaron glanced around the bedroom. The only furniture was a dresser, topped with a wrought iron sculpture depicting two cupids. The floor was layered with slivers of cut up photographs and empty cans of Red Bull. Someone had made a collage with the photos that spanned the entire opposite wall, and though he couldn’t say why, something about it didn’t look right.
Feeling dizzy, Aaron sat up and swiveled his feet to the floor, stepping onto a Swiss Army duffel bag that was stashed between the bed and the windowsill. A baggage claim ticket on one of the straps revealed the owner. Clive Selavio.
So this was his bedroom.
Aaron’s gaze snapped back to the photos on the wall, and he realized what was off. They were all photos of the same person. Playing tennis in high school. Swimming in middle school. Even younger. Baby pictures. Everywhere he looked, a thousand snapshots of her blonde hair.
All of Amber.
The sour odor of static and dried glue seemed to thicken. He went to the sculpture on the dresser. They weren’t cupids like he’d thought, they were simply babies. Two infants, their bodies wrapped around each other in a sexually suggestive way. On the base of the sculpture, carved into the iron, were the words:
Halves joined at birth
The Juvengamy Brotherhood
Hot with disgust, Aaron stared at the infants’ faces, sculpted into vague expressions of ecstasy, as every puzzling facet of Amber and Clive’s abusive relationship clicked into place.
They were juvengamy halves; their parents had put them together shortly after birth. There were still a few who clung to the old belief that nature intended it that way, even though juvengamy had been illegal for decades. It damaged halves, thus Amber and Clive’s love-hate relationship.
Aaron’s skin prickled with sweat, and he licked his lips, which had dried to scabs. If Amber was Clive’s half, it didn’t make sense to feel jealous any more. He would meet his own half in a week. So why, he asked himself as he stormed into the hallway, did he still have the squeamish feeling that Clive had stolen her from him?
Dominic Brees was on his way in, though, and they collided in the doorway.
***
“You?” said Aaron, but before he could act, Dominic grabbed his collar and slammed him against the wall outside the door.
“This is my house, f*ckface, and nap time’s over. You owe me now for saving your life . . . Clive almost killed you.”
“No shit,” said Aaron, peeling Dominic’s fingers off his collar one by one. He could see why Buff hated this guy. “What the hell was that anyway?”
“It’s what he does to idiots who hit on Amber,” said Dominic, lowering his hand. “You’re lucky his father was here to examine your head. Dr. Selavio wants to check you again later.”
Dr. Selavio. Clive’s father. the same man, Aaron recalled, who was likely responsible for Emma Mist’s half death. “We’ll see about that,” he said, surveying the huge candlelit hallway. “By the way, where is our wonder boy?”
“If I were you, I would stop provoking him.”
“Once he fixes my car,” said Aaron. “This is his room, right? I think I’ll wait for him here.”
“No, you won’t. His father’s going to deal with him,” said Dominic. “Your job right now, number eleven, is to go downstairs and end whatever fling you got with Amber.”
Aaron’s heart stammered. “She’s here?”
“And she shouldn’t be,” said Dominic. “If Clive comes back and finds both of you, you’re dead.”
“So they’re halves, then?”
“What’s it to you anyway?” said Dominic. “She’s not available. End of story.”
“I’m just curious, I’m not interested in dating her.”
“Oh yeah? And what was all that on the dance floor?” said Dominic.
Aaron turned away, wishing Dominic hadn’t reminded him. “It was her idea,” he said.
“I’m sure you begged her to stop.”
He ignored the comment. “So are they really juvengamy halves?”
Dominic laughed. “What moron told you that?”
“On Clive’s dresser,” said Aaron, feeling a twinge of hope as he nodded to the sculpture through the doorway.
“Yeah, he’s kind of twisted like that,” said Dominic, “but no, the Chamber hasn’t confirmed them yet. I don’t know their full story, but I do know they’re going in on their birthday just like everyone else. Now, go downstairs and deal with her . . . tell her you have rabies or something.”
***
Aaron forgot Dominic’s request, though, when he found her biting her nails in an empty downstairs bedroom, her face hidden by her golden hair. Though she wasn’t a juvengamy baby—and Aaron was still shaky at the good news—he still had his doubts.
When Amber saw him, she jumped up from the bed and tried without success to hide her relief. “What did Clive do to you?” she said.
“I’m fine.” Aaron stopped right in front of her, and he felt the same rush he’d felt while they were dancing. Like the nervous, lightheaded excitement that comes on a roller coaster before the big drop.
Aaron had to resist the temptation to move even closer. “Tell me the truth,” he said, “are you his half?”
“I’m seventeen,” she said.
It wasn’t even an answer. “Why is he making a collage of your face on his wall?”
“He’s a family friend,” she said.
“Who happens to be obsessed with you?”
Amber smoothed her fingers slowly through her hair then let it swish back, fanning Aaron with the smell of her vanilla shampoo. “Isn’t that what boys do?” she said.
“The sick ones.”
“Maybe I take cute pictures,” she said.
“Yeah, except most of them weren’t that cute.”
She stared at him. “Aaron, what am I to you?”
“I have no idea,” said Aaron. “We’re not friends, we’re not dating, and you don’t think we’re halves. Why don’t you make something up?”
“You’re infuriating,” she said.
Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Oh, but Clive’s no big deal?”
“It was a compliment,” she said.
“I’d hate to get an insult.”
“You’re about to.”
Her hair fell in front of her face again, and in a dizzy flash, Aaron realized he wanted her as close to him as possible—or as far as possible. Because one dance had burned the silky feel of her body right into his skin, and that was a clear sign he couldn’t trust himself around her. It was stupid to care this much; halves were predetermined.
“We shouldn’t be doing this to each other,” he said finally, his conviction already wavering, “especially not a week out. We’ll know who it is on Saturday, so let’s just hunker down and wait.” He hated the way those words sounded.
“Did Dominic tell you to say that?” she said.
“He’s right,” said Aaron, “we’re just stringing each other along—and you should go before Clive gets back.”
“I liked you better when you didn’t listen to anybody,” she said.
“Yeah, well, I got smarter,” said Aaron, his throat tight as he held the door open for her. “Maybe I’ll see you in a week.”
Amber shrugged and sauntered through the door, flinging her hair to the side so it whipped him in the face.
“Classy,” he said.
She paused in the doorway and locked eyes with him. “You won’t,” she said.
“Won’t what?”
“Ever see me again.”
Aaron held her gaze. “Then you’re just going to have to miss me.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she said, but instead of leaving, she just stood there—and Aaron felt the weight of their looming birthdays more than ever. Next time she would be with her half, he with his, and they wouldn’t even notice each other. Their pre-birthday fling would be as unmemorable as if it had happened in their mother’s womb. They couldn’t say goodbye like this.
Aaron shut the door, and as if the sound had freed them both, he swept forward and she collapsed into his arms, tugging his shirt to her chest.
Aaron wrapped his fingers around her hand, and she let go of his shirt to squeeze back. His lungs felt tight. It was the coolness of her skin, the bristles of electricity climbing his fingers, the shallow beat of his heart.
Staring into her green eyes, he knew they were about to kiss, and the rush made him dizzy. He could feel her heartbeat through her hand, like a butterfly’s wings. They moved closer.
But just before their lips touched, the door burst open next to them, and Clive Selavio strode into the room.
***
Aaron stepped in front of Amber to protect her. Clive, who hadn’t seen them yet, heard the movement and halted in the middle of the room, his shoulder’s flexed under his gray hoodie. He raised his head and sniffed the air, and as he faced them, Aaron caught a whiff of antiseptic—and saw why.
Blood dripped from gashes under Clive’s eyes. Dark bruises gleamed with Neosporin, polished and shiny. He had been beaten.
As Aaron watched, he touched his eye and caught a drop of blood, which crawled down his finger like a black beetle before his tongue flicked out and licked it clean. “Amber, I didn’t say you could be here,” he said.
Aaron felt her tense beside him. “Isn’t that up to Dominic?” she said.
“It’s up to me,” said Clive. “It’s what I let you do, and until you behave—”
Aaron cut him off. “Buy a pet if you want to make rules, Clive.”
Amber flashed him a warning look. “Don’t,” she said.
“You’re wasting your breath,” said Clive. “Harper doesn’t know the negative command.”
Amber glared at him. “Do you want me to get your father?” she said.
At the mention of his dad, Clive flinched. “Amber, could you do me a favor and go home?” he said.
Aaron starting rolling up his sleeves. “Wait outside,” he said to Amber. “This’ll just take a second,”
Amber watched him nervously. “Aaron, you’ll lose,” she said, and then she left.
Clive’s pale eyes tracked her out the door then flicked back to Aaron. “My father will see you now,” he said.
“What the hell happened to you?” said Aaron, rolling his sleeves back down.
Clive stepped toward him, and his eyes flashed treacherously. “I said my father will see you now. You wouldn’t want to be late for your appointment, would you?”
***
Back upstairs, Aaron watched the quiet hallway from Clive’s bedroom. His heart thundered impatiently, and Amber’s playful smile winked at him from every wall, driving him crazy.
Unable to bear it, he forced his eyes to the opposite wall, to a poster above Clive’s headboard. The famous photo of Schönbrunn Palace, Vienna. Taken 1939, when ninety thousand people packed the courtyard to learn the identity of their halves.
The first generation.
Aaron envied their pre-discovery lives. Everyone just living, loving whomever they pleased . . . sometimes loving no one . . . no ticking clock—
There was a quiet knock at the door, and Aaron’s heart slapped against the inside of his chest. But the man who entered was nothing like what Aaron expected.
Dr. Selavio ducked through the doorway, clipboard in hand, and stood to his full height; he nearly reached the ceiling. His white lab swished in behind him, parting to reveal a beige collared shirt and matching tie. His skin glowed bronze, and although his eyes sagged from lack of sleep, they were bright, heroic.
Aaron breathed a sigh of relief.
Dr. Selavio saw him turn away from the poster and grinned, revealing a wide, immaculate row of white teeth. “A world transformation in just a few years,” he said, nodding to the poster. “I pity all their lives before the discovery. All those wars and all that hatred. All that loneliness.” He reached out his hand. “Casler Selavio.”
Aaron took his hand and felt calm wash over him. It was only after the handshake that he noticed the black flakes of blood on the man’s knuckles.
Casler saw where he was looking and rested his hand out of view behind the clipboard.
“I apologize for my son’s behavior this evening,” he said. “He has trouble coping with his condition, and he often lashes out. It’s always something. Lately, he’s been sneaking off with my things.” He scanned the room before his eyes settled on Aaron again. “In fact, I don’t mean to pry, but has he ever showed you anything curious?”
“Curious?” said Aaron. “Like what?”
“Perhaps a vial?” he said.
Aaron swallowed. “What was in the vial?”
Casler just smiled. “You will tell me if that vial turns up, won’t you?”
Aaron nodded.
“Excellent,” said Dr. Selavio, beaming at him. “Now about what happened to you tonight . . . ” He scanned his clipboard. “Clive discovered his ability to inflict pain on others a few years ago, quite by chance, actually. We’ve seen counselors about it, and by now, he knows the risks of permanent injury, both to himself and his victims. His slipup tonight was unacceptable.”
“How does he do it?” said Aaron.
The corner of Casler’s mouth twitched. “Sadly, my son’s connection to his half is weak,” he said. “The attractive forces that hold his clairvoyant channel together tend to drift. When he touched you in just the right spot, those loose forces tugged at your channel and caused you tremendous pain—and in your case, knocked you out. Your reaction did concern me a little, so I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty to examine you earlier.” Casler nodded and glanced up, his eyebrows low and brooding. “What troubles me, Aaron, is that curious lump of scar tissue you have blocking your channel.”
Aaron was used to hearing bad news from doctors, and he zoned out most of what Casler said, but this surprised him. “How’d you figure it out so fast?” he said. “You can’t possibly have an MRI machine here?”
With a smile, Dr. Selavio reached out and bent Aaron’s head sideways. “Ever felt pain in this spot before?” he said, his thick finger probing the back of Aaron’s skull.
“Sometimes,” said Aaron, suppressing the urge to shiver.
“I understand you and Clive share the same birthday,” he said. “You must be excited.”
“Yeah,” said Aaron, unnerved as Casler continued to feel around the back of his head, “just about as excited as anyone with a blocked channel can be.”
“Hmm—” Casler pulled his hand back. “With your permission, Aaron, I’d like to run a simple test to see what we’re dealing with here. I’ve got some equipment down in the cellar.”
“What kind of test?” said Aaron, wondering if Justin Gorski had ended up in Dominic’s cellar after his “appointment.”
“There’s something about that scar tissue that really troubles me,” he said. “I’m actually not authorized to test minors, but since this is a private home—and since you only have a week until your eighteenth birthday anyway—I’m willing to make an exception. I’d like to reveal the identity of your half.”
***
Aaron’s eagerness to know his half switched to utter dread when he stepped into the musty wine cellar ahead of Dr. Selavio and saw the tripod-mounted, powder-white glass globe affixed with an orbiting brass scope.
Aaron had only seen them in pictures. Now he was looking at a real one—an aitherscope—a device that used a property of fused quartz to allow a viewer to peer inside his own clairvoyant channel, thereby revealing his half. They were rare, and you had to be licensed by the Chamber of Halves to even own one. Now, faced with the truth so soon, Aaron wished he still had a week-long buffer. Yet he couldn’t resist his morbid curiosity.
Up close, the contraption smelled like rubbing alcohol, and Aaron saw why the globe looked opaque from across the room. There were millions of web-like cracks spreading out from its core. Aaron felt the urge to look away from the glass, as if he was staring someone in the eye.
A data cable ran from the back of the aitherscope to an open laptop on a stool. Dr. Selavio unlocked the eyepiece with a key and slid it along two concentric, grooved tracks, one labeled with the month and day, the other with the year. He clicked it into place at the intersection of March 30th and the year Aaron was born.
“Go ahead and peer through the eyepiece,” said Dr. Selavio. He pulled a pen from his breast pocket and leveled his clipboard. “It’s streaming video, so I’ll have the same image on my laptop.”
“And what am I supposed to see?” said Aaron.
“Should be an image of your half’s eyes—her iris pattern, essentially. Sort of like a fingerprint. Once we get a clear picture, we’ll get it analyzed.”
Amber’s green eyes flashed in Aaron’s mind before he could stop himself, and he wasn’t prepared for the nervous rush that shook his body. He stepped up to the brass eyepiece, and his heartbeat ratcheted up. He was scared to look, scared of what he might see—or might not see. He inhaled slowly, but his pulse kept climbing. Maybe just a quick glance. He leaned forward, closed one eye, and touched his eyebrow to the cold brass.
Aaron blinked, and a white circle filled his vision, cracks whizzed out of view. Then it went dark. He shifted to get a better angle.
“It’s a piece of junk, it’s all black—”
Just then an image flashed into focus. He saw threads of white static, so bright they stung his retinas. Aaron shoved the eyepiece aside, head spinning, and staggered backwards. A throbbing pain gnawed at the back of his skull. He clutched his scalp.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he said. “It’s broken!”
“Why, what did you see?” said Casler, glancing between Aaron and the laptop screen, now blank.
“Nothing,” said Aaron, “just static.”
Dr. Selavio’s eyebrows shot up, almost to his hairline. He scribbled something on the clipboard.
Aaron leaned forward to see what it was, but Casler tilted the clipboard away from him, still writing. “I’m sure Clive’s explained my work,” he said.
“Actually, I’m confused,” said Aaron, and he pulled out the crumpled appointment reminder. “What is Abnormal Obstetrics anyway?”
Casler continued his frenzied notes. “Think of me as a plumber,” he said, “I fix leaks in the clairvoyant channel. Mainly, I deal with childbirth, since virtually all abnormalities in the clairvoyant channel originate during its formation at birth.”
“Is that what I have?” said Aaron, trying to peek over the clipboard again, “an abnormality in my channel?”
Casler finished jotting notes in Aaron’s file and glanced up. “If it’s alright with you, Aaron, I’d like to see you again. Preferably before your birthday.”
“What’d you write in my file?”
“You have my card, Aaron,” he said, tucking the clipboard under his arm. “You should grab Dominic now so he can drive you home.” He flashed his brilliant set of teeth one more time and reached out his hand.
“Is something wrong with me?” said Aaron, but he didn’t need to ask. Dr. Selavio’s too-firm handshake confirmed his fears.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Casler.
Aaron eyed the medical forms on the clipboard, suddenly convinced that Dr. Selavio knew something about him the other doctors didn’t. He needed to read those notes.
Casler wore a ring on his middle finger, which he clinked against the clipboard. It was the only sound in the damp, concrete space. Frozen under Dr. Selavio’s impatient stare and unable to formulate a plan fast enough, Aaron trudged toward the exit.
“One more thing,” said Casler, when Aaron reached the stairs, “I’m glad you’re curious about my work. I think you should come on Wednesday.”
“What’s on Wednesday?” said Aaron.
“It’s kind of like a support group for men. We all need some time by ourselves, you know, without our halves.” He winked. “Dominic attended last week, and I think he enjoyed himself. Think about it, Aaron. Oh, and shut the cellar door on your way out, would you?”
***
Aaron snapped out of his daze when he emerged from the cellar and found himself in the grandiose marble-tiled entrance hall of Dominic’s mansion. He simply had to get his hands on that clipboard.
Feeling ridiculous, he hid in the bedroom where he’d found Amber until Dr. Selavio came out a few minutes later—empty-handed, he noticed.
When the sound of footsteps vanished, Aaron rushed back to the cellar. Once again in the dingy chamber, he scanned the floor around the aitherscope for the clipboard, but the only other thing in the cellar was wine. Casler must have carried it out with him. But the laptop too? Surely, he would have seen it under Casler’s arm.
Aaron twisted to leave, thinking he’d been an idiot, when he caught movement out the corner of his eye. A rack of wine bottles against the far wall.
Heart thudding, Aaron scanned the racks, but everything lay still. Then he saw it again. The wine in each bottle was gently sloshing back and forth.
Dr. Selavio must have bumped the rack. Or moved it. Aaron crossed the room, and his scalp tingled against his skull like it wanted to peel away. Electricity hummed in the air near the back wall, cold as frost.
He knelt and felt along the edge of the wood frame, in between the wine bottles. Yes, the rack was on hinges.
With a tug, the entire section came loose and swung open, exposing the bare wall—and a gaping hole the size of a doorway, jackhammered right through the concrete. No wonder Dr. Selavio had stayed in the cellar.
From out of the dark pit, dank air rushed up Aaron’s nostrils. Just inside the hole, jagged steps dropped into the earth, and he couldn’t see the bottom. The cellar was already underground, the stairs went deeper.
Before he chickened out, Aaron stepped into the blackness and descended, pulling the rack closed behind him. He had done enough stupid things tonight already. What difference would one more make?
The stairs got steeper, thinner. Slimy roots hung from the ceiling—at least Aaron hoped they were roots. It was too dark to tell. Thirty feet down, he hit the bottom. The air purred with the warm smell of machinery. Drips echoed around him.
The stairs had opened into a chamber, and a light switch glowed red on the wall next to him.
He flipped the switch.
The scene that flickered into view made him gasp. It was manmade—but hardly. An enormous granite cavern expanded around him, with rough columns carved into the rock. Bulbs dangled from the ceiling, blinking like sick fireflies.
And Aaron was certain he had found the source of the static electricity he felt upstairs.
Anchored to the bedrock and rising to the ceiling was a device that, if fitted with lenses, could pass as a giant telescope in an observatory. From the machine’s base, power cords snaked into the darkness. Something massive oscillated inside its metal core, and the nauseating rhythm thumped against Aaron’s ribs.
Slouched in a chair at the foot of the machine, casually winding a spool of rope, was Clive Selavio. Blood had dried on his face in crusty black trails.
He made another coil as he watched Aaron enter the chamber. “You know we’re supposed to be together,” he said, “me and Amber.”
“What the hell is this place?” said Aaron, and his voice echoed.
“Be honest,” said Clive, letting the rope unwind through his fingers, “did you kiss her?”
They glared at each other, and Aaron’s blood prickled. Neither one of them blinked.
Aaron nodded to the machine. “What’s this?” he said, still not looking away.
“It’s my father’s.”
“What’s it do?”
“It makes an incision in the clairvoyant channel,” said Clive. He leaned back and ran his hand along the steel shell.
“I thought he fixed leaks?” said Aaron.
“He does, but it’s very much like surgery,” said Clive. “You ever gotten surgery?”
“Not my thing,” said Aaron.
“They have to cut you open first.”
Aaron finally broke their stare. He circled the machine, too curious to hold off any longer. Around back, panels were missing. They hadn’t been installed yet, and Aaron saw what was inside Casler’s device.
A spider web of crystal fibers, sewn together and pulsing like strands of mucous. They were organic, alien—living. But nothing was spinning—the thumping came from the fibers themselves. Aaron smelled burnt ammonia and wrinkled his nose.
The machine telescoped down to a dull metal spike, which was aimed at an operating table crisscrossed with thick nylon straps. The straps were meant as a harness.
“Don’t tell me someone lies here,” said Aaron.
Clive laughed. “I guess you could say that.”
And Aaron noticed the odor of ammonia rose from a stain at the center of table—urine.
The machine had been used recently.
Aaron’s heart gave a jolt. Justin Gorski. So this was how Dr. Selavio sucked out his clairvoyance.
The clipboard lay on a broken concrete slab behind the machine. Aaron unclipped the medical forms and began folding them. It was time to get out of here.
“Put that back,” said Clive, “it’s my father’s.”
When Aaron didn’t comply, Clive lunged and closed his fist on the wad of paper. He yanked so hard Aaron thought his wrist would snap, but Aaron held on, and the folded stack tore in half.
Aaron had the side with the most writing, though, and before Clive realized, he stuffed the wad in his pocket.
Clive’s forearms tensed, but he didn’t attack him. Aaron wondered if it had anything to do with the wounds on his forehead.
Clive’s lips curled into a smirk. “You’ll be going on Wednesday, won’t you?”
“Yeah, I’ll bring a bag of potato chips for the potluck afterwards,” said Aaron.
“We provide the refreshments,” said Clive.
“Who’s we?”
“The Juvengamy Brotherhood.”
Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Is this the weekly social?”
“It’s a bit more formal than that,” said Clive.
“Is Amber going?”
Clive’s smirk only grew. “You know, juvengamy halves get marked for each other,” he said. “Matching tattoos.”
“I’ve heard about that,” said Aaron.
“Ever seen one?”
Aaron felt his heart quiver. He didn’t say anything.
Clive turned his side to Aaron and removed his gray hoodie. He reached for the bottom of his shirt and lifted the hem to his shoulder—giving Aaron a full view of his side and back.
Aaron stared at the marks on Clive’s torso, and a chill sank into him. The lines were white scars, etched into his pale skin—as they had been since the day he was born. The tattoo resembled a fingerprint, only more symmetrical, more spiral-like. It wrapped around the side of his rib cage and over his shoulder blade, but cut off at his spine.
“It’s only half done,” said Aaron.
Clive let his shirt fall back into place, and his lips twisted into a cruel smile. “That’s because Amber has the other half.”