Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series)

by Bethany Hensel

  “Stop! Please! Please just see if he’s okay. Please!”

  “Shut up!” the soldier yells from the front seat.

  I don’t listen. I can’t listen. I bang the hand cuffs against the metal bar, trying to break them. I scream Derek’s name. I scream Jace’s name. He’s not in the car, but maybe he’s near. My throat is on fire and I can barely breathe, but it doesn’t matter. Derek didn’t get back up.

  “Captain Pearce!

  Help me!

  Someone! Stop!

  Please!

  Derek!

  Derek!

  Turn around!

  Please!

  What did you do?!”

  The soldier in the passenger seat turns. His spit lands on my face as he bellows, “Shut the fuck up! Shut up! Fucking shut up!”

  “Please…please! Derek…”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ! I can’t listen to this!”

  The car jerks to a stop and a cry gets caught in my throat. Suddenly, my door is wrenched open and I’m pulled from my seat. The soldier has my shirt in his fist and slams me against the side of the car. He grabs my face hard in his hand.

  “I’m not telling you again. Shut! Up!”

  And then my head is whipped to the side and my cheek explodes in pain. But before I fall to the ground, he catches me and leans me upright against the car again. He punches me a second time. Then a third. Blood rushes out of my mouth and nose. My ears ring. The world spins at a dangerous angle, and suddenly, I’m thrown into something small and dark. When the lid slams down, it becomes pitch black.

  My heart races and unbearable heat pours over and under and through me. Blood slides down my throat and I cough and gag. I reach out blindly, feeling coarse fabric and unforgiving metal.

  It feels like a coffin. But then I realize I’m in the trunk.

  I punch the ceiling, the walls. I wipe my face and gag again on my own blood. My legs kick and flail.

  “Let me out! Let me out!”

  The car suddenly accelerates and my head hits hard against the side. Wetness drips into my ears.

  “Please!” I scream. “Let me out!”

  The heat is unbearable. My clothes are drenched. My hair sticks to my neck and face. I try to push the trunk open, but it doesn’t budge. I cry in frustration and fear. Desperation.

  The car makes another turn. I roll to the back. Something metal brushes against me. It’s small. Familiar. I quickly reach out and bring it close to my face. I still can’t see it, but I know what it is.

  An e-tablet.

  Hope ignites inside me; I’m nearly giddy by it. My hands shake as I press the power button on the top, Derek’s phone number already on my fingertips, my words already on my tongue.

  The screen powers on. And I gasp. And then I squeeze my eyes shut and scream.

  DEREK

  Dry throat. Cotton mouth. I tremble beneath my sheets even though I'm sweating. My skin is on fire. I feel like it's boiling, scarring, then slowly oozing acid. Nothing feels right. I open my eyes and, even though it's pitch dark, I feel like the whole room is at some irregular tilt. Moving is painful, like razors are pushing out from my insides. I clench my teeth, but I still shout out anyway.

  Dad is standing right beside me. He's saying something, but I cannot make out the words. The steady drip of blood as it falls from the wide wound in his chest drowns out every noise. It is as inescapable as it is unrelenting.

  He's wearing a tuxedo, but it's caked in mud. The veins in his head, arms, and neck stand out so starkly that they look like long, pulsing worms. His eyes are glossy and vacant, the irises beet red. And that wound in his chest, that wide, ripped wound, is still oozing. But it's not blood anymore. The color of it is all wrong, and so is the scent.

  Dad lays down on the bed beside me. He turns his head until those horrible eyes are looking right at me, and that's when I know: it's formaldehyde. Formaldehyde is what runs through his veins now. And it should. After all, that's what replaces blood when a person is dead.

  I feel my body degrees at a time. My vision is blurry, unfocused, and hazy. My ears begin to recover first. They pick up the things the rest of me has trouble recognizing. Dog barking. Cars moving. Basketball dribbling against concrete. Very, very slowly, I begin to float to the surface.

  VICTORIA

  Air breaks over me like a tidal wave. Light forces my eyes shut. Rough hands seize me, and I hit my head as they pull me out. But I don’t cry out. I can’t.

  My feet twist and hit the ground as I’m dragged through an underground maze by hands beneath my arm pits. My left eye won’t open. My right is no more than a slit, able to see only fragments of color, slices of shapes. My head rolls back but, right before I close my eyes, I see her.

  She’s behind a car, looking right at me. Then she suddenly turns, and a raw chunk of scalp falls to the ground. Her hair is still twisted in it.

  I gag and throw up. But they never quit dragging me.

  Now we’re in an elevator. The back is all glass. My head is bowed; I’m breathing with my mouth wide open. And I see her again. She’s staring up, watching me ascend while she remains in place. Her left eyeball is hanging out of the socket. I can see pink tissue and blue veins and putrid-colored maggots swimming within that small hollow.

  I whimper and hear my blood fall to the ground.

  My cell door comes into view. They drag me right to it. And when they open it, she’s there again. There’s a hole on the left side of her face; her cheekbone has exploded and fleas and mosquitoes suck at her. That chunk of scalp is at her feet. And her neck…it’s twisted at an impossible angle.

  “No,” I moan. “No.”

  I try to dig my heels in, stop them from throwing me in this cell, but my struggles are too weak. I fall at the woman’s feet, my face landing by that scalp. Her bloody hair gets in my mouth, my teeth. The small black body of a flea gets stuck on my tongue.

  I claw at my face but this time, when I try to scream, a finger is placed on my lips.

  And the woman tells me, “Shhhh.”

  DEREK

  Dad comes in my room with a drink in his hand. I sit up slowly, wondering why the hell I have Play-Dough in my mouth. Oh wait, that's just my tongue. My lips are rough when I lick them, and I can feel the dry spot on the corner of my mouth from where I must have slobbered in my sleep. Dad sets the glass on the table and then sits by my legs. His face is grim.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Cloudy.” I gulp the water down. It feels good.

  He shakes his head. He tries to hide it but he's pissed. More pissed than I've ever seen him. I guess that makes sense. No one has ever shot his son before.

  I reach over and rest my hand on his. “I'm fine, Dad. It's okay.”

  Dad moves his hand so it covers mine. “No, Derek. It's not okay. What they did to you...I don't care how justified they felt. I don't care if you were robbing a bank. They had no right...” He shakes his head again. A loud hiss of a breath escapes him. Dropping my hand, he stands and begins to pace.

  “It wasn't always like this. You know that, Derek.”

  “Yeah. You've told me. When the police force—”

  “No, not that. I mean this,” he explains, throwing his arm out wide as if to encapsulate everything. “It's all just so bleak now. People think living this way is better, but it's not. They think just because there's more green space in the world that things are cleaner, but the world is just as filthy as before. More filthy. And people think it’s better but…” He trails off and takes a tremulous breath. “You don't understand, Derek. And I don't know if I even really want you to.” He stares out the window. “There's not much choice now, is there? I would shield you from it if I could but after today...after today, there's no chance of that anymore.”

  “The Corps is bad news. I know that, Dad,” I say softly. “They're jerks, but they would have done it to anyone. I don't think it's personal.”

  A silence descends. I wait for him to respond, but he won't ev
en look at me. It hurts, but I swing my legs out, and as my feet hit the ground I stifle a groan. Whatever was in that dart from hell, it messed up my muscles something good. I feel like I climbed a mountain. I shuffle over to Dad. It's only then I realize there are tears on his face.

  “Dad?”

  He looks at me. He opens his mouth, like he wants to tell me something, but then shuts it as he changes his mind. His lips quiver, and I don't know whether he's trying so hard to push something out or keep something in.

  “It's okay.”

  “I love you, you know that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “And sometimes Derek, you can be blinded by that love.” He clears his throat. “You ran after that Corps car. I saw you. Why?”

  I bow my head, and even though there’s no reason not to answer, something makes me stay quiet.

  Dad nods, as if he expected my reaction. “I’ve always given you freedom, even when you were small. I thought it’d be better that way, to let you learn from your own experiences and mistakes. To let you push your limits. So I never coddled you. I never told you what to stay away from, when to quit, if you should quit. And maybe that was wrong of me.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His voice is stronger than before. “I'm saying you need to stop. I’m saying you need to stay away. You need to think about yourself and your future and your life. You need to…you just need to stop.”

  “She didn’t do what they’re saying, Dad. She’s just convenient for them to blame.”

  “So you’re trying to be the hero?”

  “I’m trying to find the truth. It’s the only thing that will save her.”

  “But at what cost?” He shuts his eyes. “This is your life. And right now, you’re at a crossroads, the biggest one you’ll probably ever face. And I know it’s hard.” He looks at me. “It’s agonizing. I understand that. But think about what you’re doing. Think about everything you’re giving up. Every door you’re closing.”

  “She’s my future, Dad.”

  “No, she’s one version of your future, only one option for your future.”

  A weight settles against my neck, forcing my head down, rearranging everything inside me. My heart is in my throat, my lungs are crushed into my spine. “So I should let her die?”

  “Derek,” Dad makes a helpless motion, “you should let yourself live.”

  I lean against the wall and cover my face with both hands. When I lower them, a hot tear splashes on my wrist. “I can’t do that.”

  Dad says, “Even if you do find the guy who did this, you still won’t be together. You would have gone against the Corps, against every law they’ve made. You’d just be trading her life for yours.” He comes over to me and puts both hands on my shoulders. “You’re my son. I’m allowed to be selfish about you. I’m allowed to put you first.”

  I grab his wrists and clench my jaw tight.

  “Derek, this is your decision. I can tell you what I think, but I can’t force you what to do. But you owe it to yourself to think—really think—about everything you’re doing and every option you have.”

  “I know. I have.” And even though it’s a lie, even though I can’t ever back it up, I say, “I won’t get hurt.”

  Dad pulls me to him. He envelops me in a hug so tight I can barely breathe. I hug him as tightly. No more words are said after that because we both know. My safety is not guaranteed. My health is not a sure thing. Not when it comes to the Corps. To them, my life—all life—is disposable.

  I close my eyes and rest my head against Dad's chest, his heartbeat ringing in my ears.

  VICTORIA

  I still must be hallucinating. It’s the only option left. Because Jace is standing above me.

  And so is my father.

  Twenty-Four Days Before Victor King’s Death

  (Late Evening)

  “What’s going on?”

  Dad is at his desk. There’s so many apps and documents open I can’t even fathom how he even knows what’s what. He flicks his wrist and the huge monitor across from him lights up with more apps and documents. He stares at them with an intensity I’ve never seen.

  “Dad?”

  “Go away,” he says, his voice low and gruff.

  I stare at him, the throb in my wrist somehow hurting even more than it was when he first grabbed it. “Dad, I just want to—”

  “I said go!”

  His roar echoes, shaking the room, shaking me. His eyes are wide and tortured.

  “Please…what’s happening? Who was at the gate?”

  For a moment, he continues his work, ignoring me completely. But then he drops his pen and shuts his eyes. He puts his elbow on his desk and lets his face fall into his hands. “For God’s sake,” he says, “just go.”

  My blood turns cold and my heart seizes in my chest. It’s not the words he said, but the sob that was wrapped around them. In all my life, I have never heard my big, barrel-chested father cry. And it’s so wrong and so scary that tears fill my own eyes.

  I’m about to run to him, about to wrap my arms around him and tell him it’ll all be okay, when suddenly, he bolts up from his chair. He hurries to the door, quickly wiping his face. And then he’s gone, taking all of my confidence, beliefs, and feelings of safety with him in his stride. The door shuts and I am left with nothing but grief. Nothing but fear.

  DEREK

  A knock sounds at the front door.

  “I’ll get it,” Dad says. He pats my shoulder and then heads downstairs. I hear the door open, but no conversation. I make it a few steps into the hallway before Dad comes up to me.

  “You have a visitor.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Sabrina James.”

  Wow, talk about a blast from the past. I haven't heard that name in years. Instantly, a picture of Arabian coffee-colored skin and the biggest, largest green eyes I’ve ever seen pops into my head. Her eyelashes were so long, my hair used to blow back every time she blinked. As I hobble downstairs, I can’t decide if I’m happy to see her or not.

  VICTORIA

  “I thought I’d see for myself if all the rumors were true.” William casts a glance about the cell. “I see they are.”

  I press my lips together. My eyes immediately well up. I bring my knees to my chest and cover my face with my hands. The tears feel squeezed from my bones.

  “Who hurt you?” he asks.

  I shake my head. I can’t catch my breath to speak. I make no noise whatsoever. My heart aches in a way it has never ached, a different ache. Suddenly, I’m not in this cell anymore, but the family game room downstairs. And William isn’t standing across from me, he’s right beside me. He’s staring at the TV, a game controller in his hands, his gangly, skinny body hunched over in a folding chair set up so close to the screen it’s like he’s trying to be in the game.

  “Shoot,” he says. “Do me a favor. Scratch my back by my shoulder.”

  I smile and do as he says. It’s a live game and he can’t pause it. A dragon just jumped over a lava pit.

  “Last level,” he says. “Everyone on my team already went through. I get past this, we win.”

  I continue to watch him play but suddenly, I don’t feel well. I try to make it to the bathroom but I can’t. I get sick on the floor and I stand there, scared, not knowing what to do. I can’t remember ever throwing up before. And right when the tears begin to coat my eyes, I feel my hair being pulled back from my face. I feel an arm slide behind my legs and lift me. I wrap my arms around William’s neck as he carries me upstairs.

  The image on screen explodes.

  “Your game,” I mumble.

  “I know,” he says as he carries me up another flight of stairs to my room. “It’s okay.” He lays me down and pulls the cover over me. He sits by my hip and feels my forehead.

  “Do I have a fever?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, I hate being sick.”

  �
�I know. We all do.”

  I sniffle and wipe my eyes. “When’s Dad coming home?”

  “I don’t know. Not ‘til later.”

  I sigh and shut my eyes. I feel like I’m riding on waves. “Can you play your violin? It’ll make me feel better.”

  “I don’t play anymore, V. I stopped that a while ago.”

  “Why?” I ask, opening my eyes.

  He stands and kisses my forehead. “There are times you’ve got to let things go.” He gets my waste basket by my desk and sets it beside me.

  “But why?”

  William’s mouth quirks up. “Because sometimes, things belong in the past. And they need to stay there.”

  DEREK

  I met her in grade school, the third week of third grade to be exact. I was pretty small back then. It took me until sophomore year in high school to grow to my full six feet height. And I was one of the few white kids in school, the majority of the student body being biracial. Kids called me Ghost Face, Corpse, and Skeletor. One particularly hot day, I was cornered at lunch by a group of seven kids and their ring leader, Tim Sharky. The taunting and jeering began, then the pushing and punching me on the arms. Finally, someone stepped up and threw out a right hook so hard it knocked me to the ground. My nose felt like it exploded. I began to bleed. And then they started chanting: Ghost Face! Ghost Face! Ghost Face!

  Someone pulled out my hair. I would later see clumps of it on the grass. Someone else shoved me over as I tried to stand. Through my tears and blood, I saw Tim raise his leg. I braced myself for the kick, but to my shock, it never came. Instead, out of nowhere, a girl literally plowed into him, football tackle style. They fell to the ground, and the next thing I heard was this blood curdling scream. The boys all ran over to help Tim, but then the girl screamed: You want me to break yours too? The boys, rightly so, backed away from her.