Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) (13 page)

VICTORIA

Someone is crying.

Guards are laughing.

Metal clicks sound in the nighttime.

Twenty-Two Days Before Victor King’s Death

(Late Evening)

“I’m heading to Derek’s house.”

Dad doesn’t say goodbye. He used to always say goodbye to me, after he’d ask where I was going, who I was going with, when I’d be back, and remind me to take my cell phone. Now? Now he just continues to flick through his tablet with a look on his face like he’s solving the riddle of mankind.

“Dad? Did you hear me? Dad?”

Finally he spares me a quick glance. Then, about five seconds later, he says, “No. I have an appointment.”

Lead drops in my stomach. “See you later.”

I head downstairs to the garage. It’s the one space in the entire house that’s not air conditioned, and heat pours over me the second I open the door. It’s even worse when I get behind the wheel of my car. The heat is so intense that I feel like I’m literally being baked alive like some human potato.

“Holy shit,” I mutter as I shrug off my purse. But I stop almost immediately as I feel my necklace pull against my throat. It’s tangled on one of the threads of my purse strap. I hate to waste even a second, but I gently untangle the delicate chain. The necklace is truly one of a kind, a handmade gift from Derek, and even with all the things going on right now, I wouldn’t be able to bear it if it broke.

Finally, I set my purse on the passenger seat and start the car. But instead of taking a left to head to Derek’s place, I swing right. And instead of pulling onto the main road, I back up into the neighbor’s driveway and park near the front door, where the tall bushes on their property are thickest.

And for the next twenty minutes, I idle. Wait. Watch.

Finally, a white Audi passes me. I count to five before I pull out and follow behind it, keeping about a two-car distance between us. I follow it onto the parkway, through Jeannette and all the way down Route 76 and then some. I follow it for over two hours until it finally stops in front of a small, near-dilapidated yellow stone house. And I watch with a mix of wonder and horror, confusion and grief, as Dad gets out, his posture stooped and defeated, as if he were walking to his execution.

DEREK

We are back at Lucas’s apartment. Sabrina insisted (read: screamed at me) that she didn't need the hospital, would refuse to get out of the car if I drove her there, and that I just needed to help her myself.

So now we're here, with her sitting on the kitchen counter and me standing in front of her, my first aid kit open beside us. I take out latex gloves, tweezers, Neosporin, and Band-Aids. I also hand her three ibuprofens for the pain. I take three myself and wince when a pi
ll hits the cut on my lip.

I grab the tweezers and start with her right forearm. Cuts run along the skin like Morse Code, long dashes and dots, but it is right near her elbow that some glass is stuck in deep. It's easy work though; I learned this sort of thing freshman year. Right now, if you asked me to, I could remove an appendix.

We're both silent as I work on taking out the glass. When I have to dig particularly deep and she gasps, I exhale raggedly. I look up at her. Her face is close to mine.

“I'm sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay. Better to get the glass out now then—”

“No, I mean for even dragging you into this. I shouldn't have let you help me.”

“Dragging me? I volunteered.”

I shake my head and go back to removing the tiny shards of glass. Without looking up, I say, “It was a mistake to say yes to you. It was dumb of me.”

“So why did you?”

I don't answer right away. I can't. The words and thoughts are jumbled in my head. I know I had a reason, but right now I can't find it.

“Derek?”

I put the tweezers down and gently run my finger over her skin. I don't feel any more sharp pieces. I pick up the Neosporin and rub it on her cuts, then put a Band-Aid gently over them. She says my name again, but I turn and throw the glass and garbage away. I lean against the door frame, arms crossed in front of me. 

“Derek?”

Five feet separate us. I shake my head. “This is over for you.”

“Because of a few psychos?”

“Yes, exactly. It's too dangerous.”

“Tonight was a fluke. I'm fine.”

“You're bleeding.”

“So are you.”

“I'll live.”

“So will I.”

I push off the door frame and throw my arms up. “Sabrina, I'm not trying to be an asshole about this. But it's getting out of hand and you're not going to get hurt anymore.”

“I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“We got attacked. You're bleeding. This isn’t Tim Sharky. You can’t just break his leg and go on your way.”

“I didn’t break his leg.”

“Look, we got shot at. And we’re just lucky that asshole had such shitty aim. We both could have been killed.”

“But we weren't.”

I take a breath. Lowering my voice, I say, “Look, I appreciate you trying to help me. But you can't be a part of this anymore. And it's not because I think you can't take care of yourself. It's because I don't want you to get hurt.” I add with a sigh, “I can't have you get hurt.”

Sabrina slides off the counter. She comes to me, toe to toe, eye to eye. “You really want me to stop helping you? Because let’s be honest. You weren’t getting anywhere without me. So if you want me to stop, I will. But then how are you going to finish your search? How are you going to find the real killer?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

She stares at me a long moment. In the silence, her words ring in my ears. I press my lips together, weigh my options, and try to project what could happen if I say yes, or if I say no. But either way, there’s just too many damn variables. Finally, I ask, “Why do you want to do this? I mean, I know you said it’s because we’re friends but…”

I sigh and run my hands through my hair. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say but we’re not. At least, we haven’t been in a while.

Sabrina easily fills in the blanks. She nods. “I know. And all I can tell you is what I said before. What you’re going through…you shouldn’t have to go through it alone. And I mean, I’ve been where you are. Not that I’ve had someone I care about be accused of murder or anything,” she adds quickly, “but I mean that I’ve been alone. I’ve been up against things that just were too big for me to deal with. And…” she shrugs in a sort of helpless way. “I get it.”

And that’s the thing. I believe she sincerely does. In fact, I know she’s been alone. And to be honest, I’m part of the reason for it. So maybe it’s guilt, or maybe it’s to even the score, or maybe it’s because what I did was wrong. But either way, I get it too.

“Tech only. That’s it. You won’t help with talking with people or anything. You stay out of harm’s way, keep to the computer. I appreciate everything you just said, but at the end of the day this isn't about you. So don't stick your neck out, don't try to be brave, and don't do anything that could get yourself hurt. Do you understand?”

“Derek, it’ll be fine. Have a little faith in me. I won’t get hurt.”

And for some reason, even though I know her words are sincere, a sense of foreboding comes over me. A feeling like I left a door open, forgot to cover a hole. A feeling that somehow, someway, I will find a way to make Sabrina break her promise.

VICTORIA

“Are you alright?”

I wipe my eyes. A sob escapes. My body is a hollow reed and breath moves through me whether I want it to or not. Sun shines. And that seems wrong.

“Are you alright?”

His eyes droop to his jaw. His nose is a long line that extends past his chin. His hair is running ink. I wipe my hand across my eyes. A sob escapes.

His features snap into place. 

I say:
I'll be fine in a minute
.

Jace looks at me. His features are kind. He says, “You said that an hour ago.”

DEREK

Sabrina makes toast. She places a couple pieces in front of me but I can’t bring myself to eat. My head is pounding, my body is throbbing. I need a good chiropractor visit, and I’m pretty sure I broke my pinky, not that it matters. I was up all night again and my eyes burn, genuinely burn, every time I blink. That matters even less.

I check Sabrina’s wounds and clean them again, even though they look like they’re healing well. I take out a small flash light and check her pupillary reactions.

“All good?”

I nod. “You don’t have a concussion.”

“Great.”

She goes into the dining room, and we spend the next two hours just brainstorming and bouncing ideas off each other. I've told her about a dozen times what happened from the night of the murder to now. I've told her everything and my nerves are raw. 

“So let’s make a list,” she says. Neither one of us grabs a tablet. She raises one finger. “Victoria was with her dad when he got shot. But you haven’t seen her to ask what happened.”

“Right.”

“Two,” another finger, “we went to the scene of the crime where no one saw anything, so there’s no one to say that she shot her dad.”

“There’s no one to say that she didn’t.”

“Right. And three. That Captain Pearce guy says they have evidence—good enough evidence to lock her up—but we can’t see it.”

I nod. “That’s where we’re at.”

“Okay. So our to-do list is pretty straightforward, then. All we have to do is somehow break into the Steel Tower, one of the most heavily-guarded buildings in the country, find Victoria’s cell, and ask her what happened. Then we have to break into the database of the Corps, one of the world’s most brutal and intelligent armies in the world, who, I’m sure, is using the most sophisticated technology in the universe, and extract all the info they have on this case. And finally, we have to find the real killer when we have no idea what he looks like, or his age, or anything, get him to confess, and take him to the Corps. That about right?”

I lean back in my seat. “Yep. That’s about right.” Silence. Then: “Oh and don’t forget, we have to do all this in about three days.”

“Three days?”

“Based on like, the four articles I could find on the Corps, that’s about the average length of a trial, assuming you don’t get a jury. But most cases don’t anymore, so Victoria will probably just appear before a judge. She’ll have one day to present her side, the judge will review all the information, and then she’ll be sentenced.” I don’t have it in me to say that whatever her punishment, whatever the ruling the judge gives, it gets carried out immediately. I don’t have the heart. I don’t have the guts.

“Well, the trial buys us time, if anything. And besides, maybe she’ll be found innocent. I mean, won’t a good lawyer be able to cast at least a modicum of reasonable doubt on this? There weren’t any witnesses.”

I give her a look. “Assume, from now on, she’s guilty. To the Corps, she’s the one. They’ll say and do whatever to ensure she stays that way.” I add, “Trials are a farce anyway. They’re just for show.”

Sabrina bows her head. We don't speak for several minutes. To my utter humiliation, a hot tear rolls down my face. I wipe it away angrily. “We need to know what the Corps has on her. Otherwise, nothing we do makes any difference. We need their evidence so that we can prove that it's wrong. I say we start there first.”

Sabrina turns to her computer, then turns away. She sighs and leans back, closing her eyes. I’m about to close my own when suddenly, she bolts upright. I startle at the movement.

“Oh my God.” She stands and heads to the front door. “I just had an epiphany.” She pulls out her cell phone. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. Oh my God! Derek, stay right here.”

Quicker than I can speak, she bolts out the door and slams it shut behind her. I have no idea what just happened, but I figure that if Sabrina has an idea, that's a lot better than where we were. So, I wait. And five minutes later, she comes back in with an expression on her face that can only be described as totally incredible.

VICTORIA

Jace sits in the back of the room. A soldier I’ve never seen stands beside me. A middle-aged man, my attorney (who was probably only told the bare minimum of my case five minutes ago, who’s most likely here on his lunch break) stands on the other side of me. And the woman…she sits atop a mountain. Her look is emerald and green and jaded.

“Counselor, I'm a busy woman. Now, I know exactly who this girl is but I also know the crime she's accused of. And in this day in age, I do not—
society does not
—tolerate it. We can't. Furthermore, Miss King poses an extreme flight risk. You know her family’s wealth. They could have properties around the world we're not even aware of. Therefore, Miss King, you will remain where you are. I am not granting visiting rights. I am not granting outdoor time. I am not granting your request for a jury hearing. For a case like this,
I don’t want to waste the time and money
to conduct one. I will oversee this case personally. And I am revoking, as of this instant, your Request Privileges. Frankly,
you don’t deserve them
.”

The judge shakes her head. Her lips are flat and thin as eels. “Your own father. What a disgrace. An absolute disgrace. Young lady, may God be with you. You'll need Him.”

The gavel bangs down and it's all over.

The soldier takes me by the elbow and steps to the side, pulling me to follow. But my heart leaps to my throat and panic shoots from my spine outward, blasting through every nerve like an electrical shock.

“
Your Honor, please
!”

The judge’s mouth opens, her eyes go wide.

“Please,” I say, struggling with the soldier to stay put, “Your Honor, I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t do this. I know it’s hard to believe. I know how it looks. But please, I didn’t do this!”

“How dare you? Soldier, get her out of my courtroom.”

“I didn’t do this! Someone has been stalking my father. He’s still out there! Please! I didn’t do this.”

An implacable grip tightens on my upper arms. I’m pulled against a tall, hard body and my struggles are suddenly as effective as an ant trying to push away a shoe. The judge glares at me the entire time I’m dragged out; she remains stonily silent as I plead, beg.

Jace throws me in an elevator and we ride back up to my cell.