Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) (7 page)

VICTORIA

My wrists hurt. The
handcuffs are too tight
. And my legs are sore. The metal bar in front of me that I am cuffed to makes it impossible to sit comfortably. And the soldier beside me smells like sour cream.
Tears freefall
from my face but I can't reach up to wipe them away. The thick strap across my chest and shoulders make it impossible to move.
Sobs explode from my mouth and wrack my body like machine gun fire
. I gasp for breath.

Jace is in the front passenger's seat. He looks at me. I shut my eyes against a burst of pain in my chest. And that's when I feel it. Cool, soft, dry. It sweeps delicately across my cheeks.

I open my eyes just in time to see Jace put his handkerchief back in his pocket.

DEREK

William's house is not as big as Mr. King's, but it's still large enough for a General Motors factory to take up residence in very nicely. Victoria's talked about it before. Apparently, there's a downstairs
apartment
—whatever that means—in addition to the rest of the house’s three bathrooms and six bedrooms. Why all the space for a guy and his wife, I'll never know. But unlike Mr. King's house, William obviously has more, um, modern taste in designing. If Mr. King's house was decorated circa 1800's England, then William's was something out of Spaceship Interiors. Lots of chrome, lots of steel, lots of glass.

I hate it.

My parents and I move toward the back of the house to the kitchen. There's already a huge throng of people milling about or huddled on couches, sharing their grief. So far, I know no one. I haven't seen the casket yet either. No idea where it could be at this point and a part of me absolutely dreads when I have to see it. Another part of me is saying suck it up, that's what you're here for. And another part of me…another part of me just wants to collapse, fall asleep, and have someone wake me when it’s over.  There’s an unreal, dream-like quality about this whole thing, and if not for the shooting pain in my head and heart, I could almost believe it was just that.  A dream.  A nightmare.

Finally, a familiar face: William. God, the family resemblance is so strong the recoil of a shotgun blast would be less painful. The same brown eyes, the same chestnuts-roasting-over-an-open-fire hair that is somehow always styled as if he stepped out of a magazine cover for Yuppie International. The same cheekbones, the same facial planes, the same lips. Everyone, and I mean
everyone
, agrees that little William K. is the spitting image of his father, and isn't he so, so lucky?

Sure, lucky. Great word. That's exactly what I would call William right now. Luckiest guy on earth.

I mean, he may be an asshole. He may be angry and curt. But I can't help but feel sorry for him. He's burying his father today. I make my way over to him. Whispers light the way like streetlights:

What will happen to Mr. King's company?

Will William take over?

Where's the daughter?

Second one in two months. Ridiculous.

Something needs to be done here.

I still don't understand what happened.

“William,” I say, extending my hand, “I'm sorry. Despite what happened yesterday....I am sorry for everything.”

He accepts it and shakes it once. He nods. “Thank you.”

Robin, his wife, comes up to us then. She's William's antithesis in every way and it's probably why they've managed to stay married for so long. In fact, she kind of reminds me of Victoria. Whereas William can be closed off, Robin is an open book, and she encourages others to be the same way. William doesn't laugh easily; Robin laughs all the time. William can make you feel lower than scum when he pierces you with his eyes; Robin's aqua-colored ones have a way of making you feel welcome, as if you are old friends.

“Robin,” I say as I envelop her in a hug. When we step back, she wipes her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I'm sorry,” she says. Her eyes are beet red, and she is wiping at her face. “I can't quit crying.”

“It's perfectly okay. Don't apologize.”

“I just can't stand that Victoria isn't here. She should be here. The doctors aren't letting her go.”

“The doctors?” I ask with a frown.

“Yeah. You'd think they'd understand since this is her father's funeral, but they don't care. It's all about insurance for them.”

I'm about to ask what the hell she means but then William leans in and whispers in her ear. I can't make out what he says, but she nods and then leaves. I look at William quizzically but then it hits me. 

“You haven't told her.”

“I haven't told anyone.” He adds quietly, “I hope you haven't either.”

“No. I've kept it to myself, except my parents. They won't say anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Then I ask, “What excuse did you tell Robin about Victoria?”

William's iBullet goes off. He quickly silences it. “She has malaria.”

I blink. “Malaria?” Even though the disease made a comeback in 2043 (I studied it, as well as small pox and polio and a bunch of others, during sophomore year) it still sounds ridiculous. But I guess all lies sound ridiculous when you know the truth.

Finally losing some of his composure, he says, “Robin is my wife. I'll tell her when I want and how I want.” He steps close to me and angles his body so we're shoulder to shoulder. He turns his head. “No one needs to know my sister is being charged for my father's murder. No one. Do I make myself clear?”

“Why isn't she here, really?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“She should be allowed to say goodbye.”

He steps away from me then and joins Robin, who is talking with my parents. I shake my head; I can't help it. Just when I'm feeling the most empathetic towards the guy, he goes and does something like this and I'm pissed at him all over again.

I'm about to turn away, but that's when I see someone approach William. He looks vaguely familiar. I move closer. (Yeah, call me nebby.) William and the man head through the glass double-doors leading out onto the side lawn. I can't hear what they're saying, but judging by their body language, it's not about ice skating. I've never seen William look so tense—and that’s saying something. He
shakes his head over and over. He runs his hand through his hair. Finally, he steps back. He raises his arms as if in defeat and walks away. The man turns back toward the glass doors. As he opens them, he meets my gaze. Like a deer in headlights, I can't look away, I can't move. I can only stand stock-still as he approaches me.

Captain Pearce.

DEREK

“Derek, don't say my name, don't talk.”

I do a double-take. The accent is gone. He sounds just like everyone else. He's practically unrecognizable in his civilian clothes. It’s weird, like when I saw my o-chem teacher at the mall and out of his natural habitat. But that air of authority still lingers around Captain Pearce and he’s still got that posture. Now, he just looks a bit more, uh, non-threatening. That is, until I get a close up look at his face. Dark circles are under his blood shot eyes. There’s a bit of a five o’clock shadow on his jaw. I believe the word I’m looking for here is: turbulent. Whatever is going on with him, it’s not anything easy. Considering he’s the captain of one of the world’s most controversial armies, I guess that’s par for the course though.

“Walk with me,” he says, already heading back outside. I follow him to the edge of the lawn. Finally, he turns to me and, in his real accent, says, “Yes, she's here.”

Relief rushes through me and just as quickly, excitement fills me up. I practically sag to the floor. “Can I see her?”

“Derek, let me stress that no one here knows what happened. Mr. King has been extremely clear that the facts of the case must remain under wraps.”

Mr. King? Oh, he means William.

“Victoria is here with me, under the guise that I am her doctor. Her cover story is that she contracted malaria the night she came into the hospital with her father. As you know, there are different types of the disease, but for our purposes it's a mild case.”

“Just enough to keep her away from people, but not bad enough to force her into quarantine.”

“That's right.” He furtively glances around, as if making sure no one can overhear him. Satisfied it's just us, he says, “Victoria is here to say goodbye. That's it. She's not here to talk to anyone. She's not here for people to pay their respects to. Do I make myself clear?”

“So what are you saying? I can't talk to her?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying, yes.”

My shoulders slump. I shut my eyes. I shift on my feet, grind my teeth. I feel like he just showed me paradise and then burned the bridge to get to it. The urge to just plow over him and find Victoria is so strong I can actually feel my weight start to shift, my eyes open to sketch out the exits. Captain Pearce can't be everywhere at once. I mean, there are so many people here, I could easily slip out. I could find a way to get to Victoria. Someone must’ve driven her here, so I could sneak into the car that drove her; hell, I could pretend to be the driver. Or maybe I just grab her and go, run like the devil is chasing us, and never look back. Hope blooms in my chest. Or maybe...

“Derek,” he says, “You don't want to do anything rash right now. Do you understand?”

His voice brings me back to reality. The gravity of it, the seriousness. And there's something even darker twisted in the syllables that I'm not sure how to decipher. My gaze flickers from him to the people still in the house. I can't see my parents anymore. I look back at Captain Pearce. Some of the desperate urge to bulldoze over him is gone.

He nods. “Wise decision.”

Captain Pearce goes inside. I lean my head back, letting a cool breeze wrap around me. I breathe in and out several times, just trying to clear my head. It doesn't work.

I open my eyes and a bright light shines right in them. I squint and blink, unprepared for such concentrated light. I glance up to see what caused it. My breath is taken away.

Four snipers are on the roofs of surrounding buildings, their guns trained on every exit.

VICTORIA

The guest bedroom is smaller than I remember. Or maybe that’s because I was so young last time I was here. William had just bought the house, but since Robin had to go out of town for a work emergency, he had to move in by himself. Now, if you ask him, it was my idea to sleep over, to check out the new place. But the truth is, he asked me. Because the truth is, for all his poise and polish, my big brother was terrified of being alone in a strange new house.

That was the
first time
I ever came over just to come over, no holiday as an excuse.

It was the
last time
, too.

“Victoria, please.” Jace’s voice is hushed. No lights are on. It’s like no one’s in the room at all. Which I suppose is the point. “You’ve got to be quieter.”

I’m sitting on the floor in the corner, my knees pulled to my chest, my arms wrapped around a pillow. The pillow is pressed against my face. It’s the only way to muffle the sobs. I try to keep them down, but they’re like
bullets ricocheting inside me
.

I press harder.

DEREK

I'm shivering when I come back inside, and it's got nothing to do with the blasting AC. Snipers? On the roof? Images of Victoria being shot, harmed, killed, flash in mind. I have to shut them down. I can't even think about it. I can't. But the possibility is so close it causes my stomach to dip and dive, and my skin burns as I think about what might provoke them to pull the trigger. A cross-eyed look? A sneeze? A sudden cough?

“Derek?”

Mom comes up beside me. She hugs me and we hold each other tightly. She's a small lady, only five two. I'm almost a full foot taller, but right now I feel so suddenly tired and weak that I don’t doubt she could knock me to the ground in a heartbeat.

She loops her arm in mine and Dad does the same as he joins us on my other side. We follow the line of people heading to the back of the house. As we cross the threshold and into a room of white paint, white carpet, white drapes, white lilies, and white, square end tables, I finally see the casket.

It’s gleaming black.

And it’s closed.

There are seven rows of white chairs, eight in each row. My parents sit in the second row behind William and Robin, but I hang back. I watch as everyone sits. Everyone but Captain Pearce and Victoria. I step into the hallway. They're not there either.

“Excuse me,” an older man says as I move back inside, “the service is starting, son. Please take your seat.”

“Oh, I'm just waiting for...” I trail off, Captain Pearce's words ringing in my ears.
Don't make a scene
. With one last look around, I go to the seat my parents saved.

A podium is beside the casket, and everyone hushes as William stands and moves behind it. He clears his throat softly before he begins to read from a book already open. If you put a gun to my head, I wouldn't be able to tell you what he just read, but I could tell you that he did it without any hint of histrionics. I can't get over his composure. If it were me up there…God, I would’ve fainted by now. 

But William...William has the presence. He's only twenty-seven, but people tend to forget that. He has the maturity and worldliness of someone much older, who’s seen and done everything there is to see and do. I know that he was fast-tracked in high school and graduated with honors, I know that he's seen many Wonders of the World. I know that he got married when he was twenty-one. Now, standing there, reading beside his father's casket, it truly seems as if there is nothing more for him to go through.

His voice does not catch as he reads, there isn't a single tear glistening in his eyes. His speech is normal: no flat monotone, no choked back sobs. He finishes the passage. Mom takes my hand in hers. I squeeze it three times, a childhood code for a very simple message: I love you.

Forty minutes later, after three more people speak, it's over.

Everyone gets up and a line forms to walk in front of the casket. I'm one of the first to walk up, and I say a silent prayer. A wavy, distorted image of my own reflection stares back at me. I bow my head. Shut my eyes.

I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to die. You were a good man and I will find who did this to you. I will find who did this to Victoria. And I'll free her. I will protect her. I will love her. I promise you. I will save her
.

I pass Mr. King's casket, a new vow in my head.

<><><>

The room is nearly empty. Everyone has since moved to the more formal dining room at the front of the house for the wake except for a group of four people. They stand by the casket, and I recognize them from pictures Victoria had once showed me. They are Mr. King's brothers and sisters—and I don't intrude on their conversation. There are some inner circles that just shouldn't be breached. This group, these mourners, knew Mr. King in another lifetime, when he belonged to tree houses, video games, and road trips with his own father. They knew him in ways no one—not even William or Victoria—would ever know him.

They are the original Kings. They are Camelot.

They slowly file out of the room. I’m the only one left. My stomach clenches. The pounding in my head has moved down my neck and into my shoulders. Is Victoria gone? Was she so close and yet I didn't even know it?

Suddenly, a small hiccup of breath sounds behind me. A fragile, breakable sound. They are not loud cries, but they are the most cutting. They are the most deep. The hairs on my neck stick up, little bursts explode on my skin. I turn slowly.

She looks smaller than ever.

Victoria.