Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series)

by Bethany Hensel

  Victoria quickly moves in front of him, grabbing one side of the box with both hands. “No. You’re not taking his stuff.”

  “Let go.”

  “No.”

  “I’m warning you, get off.”

  “Victoria,” I interject, “just let him take them. It’s not worth the fight and if your dad wants them then—”

  “It’s the principal of it, Derek,” she cuts in, still glaring at William. “He thinks he can just come in here and throw his weight around?” Her grip tightens. “We’re not his servants and he’s not in charge.”

  “Victoria,” William warns. “I’m not saying it again.”

  He pulls but she jerks the box against her stomach. “You’re not even making any sense. Why would Dad need these? They’re like, years old. He’s got his iBullet now. So what are you doing?”

  It’s not a fair fight. William is taller than me, and I’m six feet. He rock climbs and kayaks; I’ve seen the photos. Victoria comes up to about my chest and can’t do a pushup. I start to walk over, hoping to—I don’t know—when suddenly, the smooth plastic box slips out of both their grasps. The devices hit the ground hard; some bounce, some roll, some land with a heavy thud and don’t move another inch. Keys snap off and slide across the floor. The screen of an object scanner splits right down the center. Springs and coils pop out from 3D printers and various tripods.

  “Look what you’ve done!” Victoria gasps. She drops to the ground, gathering up the broken pieces.

  I make a move to help her but William raises one hand. “Don’t.” Then he looks at Victoria. “Get off the floor.”

  She ignores him. “You ruin everything. Everything.”

  I crouch down beside her and gather the broken keys.

  “God,” she continues, “you’re such a fucking asshole, Will. Why are you even here anyway? It’s been months since you last graced us with your presence. Why now?” He starts to say her name, but she cuts him off. “You know, me and Dad…we get it, okay? We get it. We can read the writing on the walls. You hate us. You hate this family.”

  “I never said—”

  “But you act like it!” Victoria yells. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her really scream. The sound is startling, not because it’s loud or angry, but because it’s laced with so much pain.

  Red crawls up her neck into her cheeks, her ears. Her breath hitches and her eyes are wide. I stand as she stands and place my hand on her arm.

  “Victoria,” I say softly. But she jerks away from me.

  “No,” she says. “He needs to hear this.”

  Turning back to William, she continues. “We just aren’t enough, huh? Me and Dad. We don’t even matter to you anymore. You come around for Christmas and that’s pretty much it. And then when you do show up, you can barely look at either one of us without glaring.”

  “Quit being such a child.”

  “Quit being such an asshole! God, you live eighteen miles away and you gave me my birthday present through the fucking mail! And not even on the right day!”

  “Forgive me,” William says, “if some things are more important than your birthday party.”

  “How about family? Are some things more important than that? Or how about a little loyalty to the people who’ve always been there for you? To the man who raised you? Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  A tense, horrible moment passes. I can feel Victoria’s desperation, how badly she wants William to tell her that he does care, that family does matter, that she matters. The need radiates off her as powerfully as the heat from a wildfire. And William, well, he replies alright. He replies with an indecipherable look, and then he turns his back on her and walks away.

  Pain hits me square as I take in Victoria’s devastated features. I reach for her hand but there’s suddenly nothing but air. She crouches down fast and in the next second, she’s up again, feet spread wide, arm outstretched like she’s pitching a fastball. And the laptop, once by my foot, is now flying through the air.

  I can’t even scream look out. I can only watch, stunned, as it gets closer and closer to William’s head. Finally, just inches away from his ear, it smashes against the doorframe. He stops dead in his tracks. Slowly, he turns. He levels Victoria with a glare so potent, I’m surprised she doesn’t combust on the spot. As he closes the distance between them, I have to remind myself to breathe.

  “Careful,” he whispers. “Don’t be so quick to burn your bridges.”

  “Or what? In case you hadn’t noticed…that card you sent? I already returned it, unopened.”

  William stares at her for one long moment. But finally, he walks out the door. He doesn’t bother collecting the devices; I’m sure he’ll find some way to grab them later. It’s only when I hear his car start that I look at Victoria.

  “You okay?”

  She’s stock-still for the next half-minute, but then she flies against me, her arms wrapping around me tight. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about all of this. I just…I got so angry at him. I didn’t mean to throw it. I didn’t.”

  I glance at the mess around us: the broken laptop, the damage to the doorframe. I’ve never seen her temper flare so violently, but her apology easily slips past my shock. Tension drains from my body as she says sorry over and over. I stroke her hair, hoping it calms her. “It’s alright. You were upset.”

  “He doesn’t even care. Family doesn’t mean anything to him. It’s unforgivable.” She shakes her head. “I don’t need him. I don’t. I have my dad. I have you.”

  I kiss the top of her head. “You’ll always have me.”

  She tilts her head up and kisses me. When she pulls back, she whispers against my lips, “And you’re all the family I need.”

  DEREK

  I've been to King Investment Securities, Victoria’s father’s company, about four times before. It’s housed in the K & M Building on Boulevard of the Allies and it really is gorgeous. You walk in, and if the white marbled floor doesn’t take your breath away, the ceiling certainly will. You look up, way up, and are rewarded with an elaborate, curving dreamscape meticulously sheared and sliced into white plaster, punctuated often by flecks of green and gold. Old and graceful, the intricacy of the architecture is something just not seen in this age of chrome and cold steel.

  The M in the building stands for Meyers. The K stands for King. As in Victoria King. As in, her family has owned this forty-five story building since her great-great-great-grandparents came over to the US from Ireland.

  And right now, I couldn't give a shit about any of it.

  My mind is racing and my heart is beating out of my chest. Traffic was light on my way over here, but construction for the new Li Kang hotel made parking near-impossible. It took a good ten minutes to find a spot and it’s still an illegal one. The heat is almost unbearable as I run the two blocks from my car to the front door of the building. Sweat is rolling off me. Even the frigid AC does nothing to cool me down.

  A young girl at the receptionist's desk smiles at me. “Hello. Welcome to—”

  I walk right by her.

  “Excuse me,” she says, her voice laced with surprise.

  I ignore her.

  “Hey, you can't go back there.”

  I do anyway.

  “Stop.”

  I don't. I push open William's office door and slam it shut. He looks at me. Sighs.

  “Chasing me to the office. Really?”

  “So you did hear me call you.”

  “Yes. And just like you chose to ignore my secretary seconds ago, I chose to ignore you.”

  Silence. Then: “Did you see Victoria? What did she say?”

  “Yes. Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Well, she probably wanted to say something but I wasn’t really in the mood to listen.”

  Another silence. “I need your help.”

  William rolls his eyes and swipes his hand across his smart desk, closing all the documents and apps. “Right. Of course you do. Spit it
out already so you can leave. God knows if I don't hear you now, you'll just keep barging into my office until I do.”

  I gulp. Even though I've rehearsed what I want to say about a million times during the drive over, I hadn't counted on William's blistering stare or the tense, almost violent thickness in the air. Finally, I say, “I want to find your father’s killer. The real killer.”

  William leans back in his big, plush leather chair and shuts his eyes. “Please leave.”

  “Look, I know this is difficult. I mean, I can't imagine. But the Corps, they're wrong about this. Everything...all of it...it's wrong. Victoria is incapable of this. Mentally incapable.” I take a breath. “They aren't taking this investigation seriously. If they were, they'd be looking at real leads. I mean, they refuse to even talk to me. But between the two of us, I know we can figure this out.”

  William opens his eyes. He stares at me like he doesn’t know me, like I'm some vagrant come to beg him for money. It’s a mixture of disbelief and, worse, disdain. The look on his face is dry, pitiless, perfectly cruel. His eyes bore into mine. Suddenly, he stands and walks across the room. He pulls open the door.

  “You're throwing me out?”

  “Would you rather have my security do it?”

  I stand. “She’s your little sister. How can you just leave her alone like this?"

  “I already gave you my answer. You trying to guilt trip me into helping you is wrong.”

  “I’m not trying to guilt trip you. I just want to bring your father's killer to justice.”

  “For God's sake.” His entire body is taut, tense. He shuts the door with extreme and utter care, as if he is afraid to really slam it like he wants to. “You're not talking justice, Derek. You're talking a wild goose chase. And I'm not being a part of it.”

  “I don't understand. You have the money, time, and means, not to mention the opportunity, to find your dad's killer but you won't. How can you justify that?”

  “Don't worry. I sleep fine at night.”

  “Please, William. You can't ignore this responsibility.”

  A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. “When it comes to my father, believe me, I have all the responsibility I can take.”

  “I'm begging you. Help me.”

  A tense moment passes. William and I don't take our eyes off each other; I don't think either of us blinks. I have never seen him more stern, more in charge, or more focused. For one blinding, painful moment, he looks exactly like his father.

  “I told you once before. I'm done cleaning up her messes.”

  And that's when realization dawns. It shears a hole in my stomach and drops lead in the space. “You can’t believe she really did this. You can’t.”

  He doesn't answer, just walks back to his desk. He sits down. The only sound is the soft drumming of his fingers as he types on the keyboard holograph. With nothing more to say—I’m too shocked, too disgusted to even think of words to say to him—I walk to the door. But then William calls my name. I don't turn around, but I stop.

  “One more thing,” he says. “If I find out that you've gone to any of my clients, including the city officials, the borough managers, or the Corps soldiers, I'll personally make sure you get arrested.”

  “What for? Having a friendly conversation?”

  “For interfering with an investigation. For bribes. For blackmail. I don't know, Derek. But I'm a pretty powerful guy in this city. I'll make something up. And I'll make sure it sticks. So you think about that, huh? Think about how a nice, little jail notation would look on all future applications. That is, if the Corps even lets you go.”

  I finally turn to face him. “You're scared. Are you afraid of what I might find?”

  “Derek,” William says, his eyes as turbulent as a hurricane, “I'm afraid of what you won't find.”

  VICTORIA

  Rough hands seize me and drag me down a corridor that stretches for miles. I'm shoved into a room like a rat shoved into a cage. Bright lights blind me. No chair. No table. No place to run. No place to hide. Fabric rips and screams as it's torn from my body. Fingernails scratch my skin. I don't struggle. I'm too scared and cold to struggle.

  They back away from me as I stand naked before them. I cover myself and cower and when the water comes on and hits me like needles, I wrap my arms even tighter around me.

  The water makes me shiver

  and cry

  and scream.

  I turn so the water hits my back but then I'm spun around so fast I nearly fall.

  And I'm shoved again. I'm shoved into paper-thin pants and a shirt. I'm shoved into another hallway. I'm shoved into another room and slammed into a chair. I’m still rocking backward when a large hand grips my chin and forces my jaw down, forces a long q-tip against my cheek and swirls it round and round. Something sticky is shoved against each temple. My hands are wrenched behind my back and the metal is so cold it burns.

  “Please. Please. You’re making a mistake.”

  DEREK

  I squint as I walk to my car. The humidity is unforgiving—it’s like walking through water. Hot, sticky, disgusting water. A blast of heat pours over me when I open my car door and sit behind the wheel. The dashboard thermometer says the temperature outside is 113 degrees.

  It's October 9th.

  The weather wasn't always like this. I remember my dad telling me stories about trick-or-treating during blizzards. Or that, when he was young, a surprise snowstorm hit Western Pennsylvania and school had been canceled for a week because of it.

  There are no more blizzards. There’s no more bundling up in large, soft coats. It's been eleven years since the last time snow fell, and even then it was nothing more than a dusting. There are tons of theories as to why this happened: global warming, pollution, evolution. Whatever the reason, no matter where you travel now, winter doesn't exist anymore. Polar bears do not exist anymore. White Christmases, snowmen, and sled rides do not exist anymore.

  Slowly, I drop my hand from the ignition. I lean back. Suddenly, the enormity, the overwhelming realization of the last eighteen hours slams into me. Victoria, the love of my life, is being charged with murder.

  I reach over and pick up my cell phone. I left it there last night and lacked the energy to go out and get it. But now, in moments like this, there's really only one thing to do. I dial the number.

  “Hello?”

  My eyes well up at the sound, my throat expands to painful proportion. It takes me several deep breaths before I feel as if my chest won't explode right then and there. But when I speak, it still feels unbearably tight.

  I say what I need to say. Then, I break down and cry. I have never been more grateful to say two simple words:

  “Hi, Dad.”

  VICTORIA

  This room is dark and the ground is covered with hay. It sticks to my wet feet. There’s a barred window up high. I die when the door slams shut.

  But he’s there, locked in with me.

  The ally from the hospital. The enemy at my front door.

  I can’t take my eyes off his lips.

  I'm mesmerized by his words.

  Surprising words.

  We found the gun your father was shot with.

  Monstrous words.

  Your prints were all over it.

  Life-ending words.

  The gun was found in your purse.

  The purse was in the dumpster.

  Victoria?

  DEREK

  Mom runs out to me before I make it to the front door. She throws her arms around me. She isn't crying, but she's perilously close.

  “My baby,” she says. “My poor baby. I can’t believe this happened to you. To Victoria.”

  I shut my eyes and squeeze her tight. “I know, Mom. Me too.”

  She rises up on tiptoe, tightening her famous stranglehold. But it feels so damn good, I don't rush out of it. I just enjoy it. And I hug her even tighter.

  Several beats later, some inner bell has sounded and Wrestlema
nia is over. Mom releases her hold on my neck but instantly grabs both of my shoulders. She looks me over, as if trying to find some wound or cut. But, like most injuries that hurt the worst, in places that matter most, you can’t see them from the outside.

  Satisfied I’m not falling apart at the seams, she adjusts her body so she fits right against my side. I drape my arm over her shoulders, she puts her arm around my waist, and we walk to the porch.

  If Mom is the parade that welcomes me back—loud and gorgeous and beautiful—then Dad is the man behind the scenes, the one to whom I tell every single detail. Mom is the one I can still be the child with, the one I can still run to and ask for Count Chocula in the morning and she'd give it to me in a supersize bowl with some cartoon figure on the bottom. But Dad…no coddling there; it's full responsibility for every action I make, and complete accountability for every circumstance I find myself in.

  He waits on the porch for us and I'm embracing him in no time. I throw my arms around him and don't let go. He pats my back. It's a semi-large motion and it feels more like he's trying to burp me than comfort me, but it feels perfectly right. Gratitude, plain and simple, bursts inside me.

  “Alright, come on inside,” Mom says after a while, taking me by the elbow as Dad and I break apart. “God, you must be starving. I can’t imagine you ate during any of this.”

  Dad and I both follow her in. We go to the living room, but Mom makes a beeline for the kitchen. Cupboards open and close, drawers slide out and in. The sounds are soothing. Dad and I sit on the couch. He’s about to say something when a familiar beep sounds from the TV, signaling breaking news. We both turn toward the screen. A serious-faced anchorman intones that a partial shoe print was just found outside of a first floor window of Issy Campbell's house.

  Dad turns off the TV.

  “Sorry. I’m sure you don’t want to see that.” He looks at me and sighs. “How’re you holding up?”