Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series)

by Bethany Hensel

  Teachers finally started to come over. I guess they can’t see a kid get beat up but they can sure hear him. I was hauled to my feet by my social studies teacher and taken to the nurse’s office. While the principal called my dad for him to pick me up, the girl who tackled Tim Sharky was escorted into the office too. She didn’t hesitate before she sat down next to me.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Okay,” I nodded, barely able to see her over the big Kleenex clamped against my nose. Then, because I was all beat up and had never been in a fight before and was, well, curious, I asked, “What did you do to him?”

  The girl smiled. It was such a combination of pride and trouble and deviousness, I was momentarily stunned by it.

  “I gave a bully what he deserved. I didn't let him get away with it.”

  “Thanks for saving me.”

  She grinned and patted my shoulder. “Anytime.”

  And so began a friendship that lasted to sophomore year of high school. Until that night it all broke apart into too many jagged pieces for either of us to handle.

  I put my hand on the door knob. I try not to think how much time has passed between us. I try not to think of the years without a call, an email, or a text. I try not to think of the reason why. I open the door. Sabrina is standing right in front of me. And because I’m not all beat up or shy or in third grade, I say, “How are you?”

  She smiles as if she knows, as if the memory is as fresh in her mind as it is in mine. She nods. “Just fine.”

  <><><>

  She still has skin like Arabian coffee. She still has the big eyes and lashes. She’s taller though. Almost my height. I can’t believe how tall she is.

  “I'm sorry to just show up on your doorstep like this. It's just...when I heard about your girlfriend’s dad—a friend of my mom's works with your girlfriend's brother—I had to say something. I figure you’d be pretty upset by it and I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you.”

  “Thanks, Sabrina.”

  She puts her hands in her pockets. Rocks on the balls of her feet. Glances around. Awkward silence. It seems to last for decades. A dull ache begins to pound in my chest. I know why we haven’t spoken; I just still can’t believe it happened.

  Finally, Sabrina asks, “Can we walk?”

  “Sure.”

  The first few blocks, we are quiet. It’s hot, but she’s a great distraction. For the first time in a while, I don’t notice the heat. I glance at her. “So, how have you been? What have you been up to?”

  She chuckles.

  “What?”

  “Just…small talk. I never thought I’d live to see the day when we’d resort to small talk.”

  I grin. “I know what you mean.”

  Another block of silence. As we wait on the curb to cross the street, I notice a small billboard flashing that picture of Issy Campbell. Beneath it are details for a local rally. I avert my gaze. I see Sabrina do the same.

  “Hey, Derek?”

  “Yeah?”

  We get across the street and then stop walking. We’re standing in front of, of all places, the old elementary school we used to attend.

  She bites her lower lip. She takes a breath. Finally, she says, “I’m not here just to offer my condolences. I’m here because I know about Victoria's arrest.”

  A whooshing sound goes off in my ears. I think it's my heart dropping to my feet.

  “How?”

  “I have a friend whose dad works in the Steel Tower. I overheard him talking about it the other day.” She tilts her head. “Derek, I'm really sorry to hear about Victoria. I mean—”

  “She's innocent,” I say sharply. “Victoria would never even think of doing something like this. She loved her father. And the Corps, they're just grasping at straws. Victoria was the last person with him so they're just blaming her and—”

  “I believe you.”

  I blink, momentarily stunned at her easy faith in me. I had expected her to argue with me, tell me I was crazy. I hadn’t expected her to believe me, and I hadn't realized how much those words would mean once I heard them.

  “Why?”

  “Because I know you, the type of person you are. And you have good judgment. You see people for who they are.” She reaches up and touches the cross on her necklace. “And I have faith in that.”

  “Thank you.”

  She nods. “So what are you going to do?” Sabrina lowers her hand. “I mean, if it were me, I'd want to find the person who really shot her father.”

  My brows shoot up in surprise. Her assessment, right as it is, still surprises me. I look at her as if seeing her for the first time. Her eyes are darker than I thought. Her entire expression is much more serious than I thought. This is not some pseudo-sympathy for my benefit. There's something else on her features, something dark, painful, and unidentifiable.

  “I just want to find the truth.”

  “Good. That’s good.” The wind pushes her hair around her face and the air lights up with jasmine. “I would like to help you.”

  VICTORIA

  I drop my hands from my face.

  I’m alone once more.

  DEREK

  We're at the corner of Woodbourne and Queensboro. Cars pass us. Her words scrambled my thoughts and I don't even know where to start. I'm still trying to digest that she knows about Victoria's arrest. It could be ten minutes or ten hours later before I ask, “Why? Why would you—I mean, what could you—? Victoria and you…you’re not even friends with her.”

  “We went to the movies that one time.”

  “I want a real answer.”

  Sabrina nods and sits on the curb. I join her. After a moment, she takes a small breath and says, “The thing is, Derek, despite our history, when I heard about what happened, what you must be facing…I wanted to be there for you, so you wouldn’t have to deal with this alone.” Her gaze rests somewhere near her left shoe. “I mean, I’ve known you since third grade. I don’t have anyone in my life I’ve known as long as you, who I’ve been through with as much as you. And that means something to me. You still mean something to me.”

  I think back over our friendship—the movies and parties we went to, the many classes and clubs we took together, including that martial arts one where she accidentally kicked me so hard a filling came out. I think about how she was there at my grandmother’s funeral and how I held her hand when she had to put her dog down. I think about the way she used to tell me, in moments of blinding self-doubt, that things would always work out. It seems impossible to think of all the days we’ve gone without speaking.

  “You still mean something to me, too.”

  She flashes a quick, small smile. “You’re in trouble. I can help. And I’m good at this sort of thing. Y’know, computer stuff, researching. Finding information.”

  “But it’s my fight, Sabrina. I promised to get her out of there.”

  “And aren’t two people working on that promise better than one?”

  I'm still not entirely convinced, but the cracks in the armor are getting wider, and my mind races to try and mend them. I shut my eyes and press my fingers against the lids. But she's right. I remember our computer class we shared in seventh grade. She was like a fish in water, catching on to everything with the speed of, well, a computer. She gave the teacher a run for her money more times that I could count. She was extraordinary.

  And now she's here, ready and willing to help me. And I'm so overwhelmed already. William shut me out cold; he won’t be any help. I can't even get past the front desk of the Corps office, and that captain is a closed book locked up in a bomb-proof safe.

  But Sabrina...

  I open my eyes and look at her. Her expression and all its emotions are about as clear as skywriting. And something inside me cracks.

  <><><>

  I hurry to my room and pull out my old book bag from the back of my closet. I grab a few changes of clothes, my wallet, the money on my desk. I shove in my small medical bag, thin
king it can’t hurt to have it. I press them all in then zip it all shut. I put the strap over my shoulder and head downstairs.

  Dad comes into the living room just as I reach the landing. His eyes immediately go to the book bag. He sits on the couch and grabs the remote, though the TV stays off.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “Yeah.” I drop the bag and take a seat opposite him. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Where?”

  I recall the address Sabrina gave me. It’s over in the next county. She’s housesitting for her friend Lucas, so it worked out perfectly, as there was no way we were going to meet at my house and involve my parents.

  “It might be better if you don’t know.”

  “Can I know anything?”

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The words are stuck between my heart and my brain, between what needs done and what I’ve always been used to doing. I’ve never kept secrets from him; he’s always been the first person I confide in. But as I look at him now, as I take in the brackets around his mouth, the droop to his eyes, and the years etched onto his skin, it finally hits me: Dad is not invincible. He’s not indestructible. And even though I know he would step up and take a bullet for me, it’s not his fight anymore. It’s my turn to step in front of him.

  “I’m not going to be home for a while. There are some things I need to do and it’s…” A sharp pain goes off in my chest. It spreads out over my body like a firework. “It’s better if I don’t do them here.”

  Dad blinks slow and exhales softly. “Are you sure?”

  I nod. Then I stand and lift my bag. As I walk to the door, Dad says, “You promise me. You promise you’ll come back.”

  I stop beside him and rest my hand on his shoulder. I squeeze it once before I leave, unable to bear making a promise I know I may not keep.

  VICTORIA

  I wake up gasping, water sluicing down my face. A man stands above me, fat and bald. Ugly on the inside.

  “Hey prom queen, get the fuck up.”

  He throws another bucketful of water in my face.

  “Now, you sick psycho! Get on your feet!”

  He grabs my arm and hoists me to my feet. The slimy walls of my room feel better than his touch. I press into a corner and wrap my arm around me.

  “Now this is the part I love. This is the part that really makes me fucking love my job.” He puts his hands on his hips and smiles. “It is my duty and proud obligation to tell you what will happen next. First, you're gonna go in front of the judge, she's gonna realize what a sick fuck you are, and she's going to have you shot. Any questions so far? Good. Next, you’ll be dragged out into the courtyard and lined up like a fucking target practice dummy. Five guys will be right across from you and then they’ll shoot you. But not just one time through your thick skull, like the other prisoners. Nope. See, I know the guy in charge of the firing squad. And I’m gonna tell him to shoot you all over your body. In your legs, your arms, your stomach. Everywhere but here.”

  He presses his finger against my forehead and I jerk away from him. He chuckles. “It’ll hurt, Princess. But that’s what happens to crazy, sick, psycho, murdering motherf—”

  “Get a coffee.”

  The ugly man’s face goes stunned, and he looks behind him. “You serious?” When Jace says yes, he shakes his head. He swears as he walks out of the room. He slams the door shut. The air is still vibrating as I slide down the wall and curl my feet beneath me.

  Jace comes over and squats down in front of me. I hadn’t noticed the small towel in his hand, but when he extends it to me, I take it. My skin is tight and itchy where my blood has dried, and I gratefully wipe it away. If only the ugly man knew he was doing me a favor by dumping so much water on me.

  “How are you feeling?”

  For some reason, his question instantly makes my eyes well up.

  He continues, “The soldiers that assaulted you and threw you in the trunk, they’ll be reprimanded. Their actions put you in extreme danger. You suffered heat exhaustion and—”

  “Please let me go home. Please. I can’t stay here another minute.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  My lips tremble. Anger surges through, dissolving some of my despair. “Then you should’ve left me in the trunk. You should’ve just let me suffocate.” I wipe my eyes and meet his gaze. “You could’ve saved yourself some bullets.”

  Jace stands and moves to the window. The sunlight makes his usually brown hair look like it's on fire. I've never seen someone with his hair color before.

  “Victoria,” he says, “I've only ever wanted the truth from you. That's all. And I’ll listen to it, whatever that truth may be. And I’ll help you with it, too. I won't judge. I won't condemn. You have my word.”

  “I told you the truth. I'm not a murderer. Someone had been stalking my father. He found him. And then he shot him.”

  “We never found any evidence of stalking. No voicemails or texts or emails. We haven’t been able to find anyone who held a grudge against him, either. In fact, the only real people who would benefit from his death are you and William, as you’re both set to inherit billions.”

  I scoff. “Kill for money? God, you are so off the mark.”

  “And as for the night of the shooting…there were no witnesses; there were no other fingerprints on the gun. It was a rainy, muddy day, but we found no footprints round the area except a size ten and a half shoe, which was your father’s, and a size eight heel, which was yours. Finally, the wounds your father sustained support that he was shot from close range, and yet the only fibers and hairs we extracted from his person were yours. Now, unless this robber was encased in a plastic bubble, how do you explain that?”

  “It’s not my job to explain it!” I cry, my hands hitting against my legs. “I’ve given you the truth. Over and over. My story hasn’t changed. This guy followed my dad, he found out where we lived, he stalked him! And I don’t know about any footprints or hairs, but that’s not my fault! All I know…” Tears gush from my eyes. I can barely push the words up my throat but when I do, they explode from my mouth in short, gasping bursts. “I didn't...kill...my father. Please....believe me.”

  Jace sighs. He retraces the steps he just took and then some, walking until he's all the way at the door. He puts his hand on the handle but then stops. He turns and looks at me. “I need the whole story. If you have anything to say, anything at all, say it now because unless you give the judge something real, something solid and concrete, she won't believe you.”

  “I don’t deserve this, any of this. My father was killed in front of me and yet…I’m the bad guy.

  I’m not bad. I’m not bad.”

  DEREK

  Sabrina told me to meet her at Lucas’s house later in the evening, which means I have some time to kill. And I know just where to spend it.

  <><><>

  It takes me twenty minutes to find a parking space in town and, like last time, it’s an illegal one. Parking tickets are the least of my worries.

  I jog across the street to the Steel Tower. It seems higher than before, more foreboding, scarier. Maybe it’s the dark clouds that hover right near the top floor. You can almost imagine those clouds parting to unleash a storm of fire and rain.

  It’d be appropriate.

  Or maybe it all seems so much scarier because last time I was here, my shoulder got smashed in by some asshole.

  I push through the revolving door and, as expected, security pats me down, x-rays go over every square inch of me, and my shoes are taken away. You’d think I’d be a little used to this, but I’m not. My stomach still clenches painfully. Sweat breaks out on my forehead. I feel my face heat. But I’ve got to do this. If I ever want to find the truth, I’ve got to go to the one person who can tell me it.

  I’ve got to talk with Victoria.

  The metal steps of the escalator bite through my socks and into my feet. But the pain is good, especially when I see Fat Guy at the main desk again. It lets me
redirect some of my anxiety.

  “Well, well,” he says, stretching his thin lips across yellow, uneven teeth. They look like a chewed-up Snickers bar. I have to force myself not to show my disgust. “It’s Pretty Boy back again.”

  I clench my jaw. It takes every ounce of discipline I have to keep my voice polite and calm as I say, “I would like to see my girlfriend. I was told visiting hours are now.”

  That’s a lie. I couldn’t find a thing online about their visiting hours. I couldn’t even find a listed phone number for me to call them. But I don’t feel too bad about the fib. Okay, fine. I don’t feel bad in the slightest.

  He rubs his huge gut. “Doesn’t mean I have to let you in.”

  “I'm allowed to see her.”

  Another huge, chocolate-covered grin. “Sorry, Blondie, but she’s in with the Captain. No one sees her when she’s in with the Captain.”

  “Then I’ll wait.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, you do that.”

  Before I can ask him what he means, I feel cold metal press against my temple. I hear that click, the one you normally only ever hear in the movies.

  I swallow hard and glance over at the soldier holding the gun. He looks about my dad’s age. And if he feels bad at all about pressing a gun against my head, he really isn’t showing it.

  “Now,” Fat Guy says, “that there against your cranium is called a Smith and Wesson 800. That thing’ll shoot right through your skull, through your brain, out the other side and into the building beside us.”

  I look back at Fat Guy. My breath comes out loud and ragged.

  He continues, “It’s a double action revolver and it’s the best in the world. She’s what I like to call the Ultimate Mother Fucker. And you know what?” He folds his hands across his stomach, as if he were telling me a bedtime story. “I’m perfectly within my rights to use it.”