I can hear Dad breathing. It’s a strained, hard sound.
“Please,” he says. “We need to talk about this—”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Look, it’s not easy to just…I’m asking for three goddamn hours. Can’t you wait?”
A pause, then: “You have two.”
Before Dad can answer, the stranger hangs up.
DEREK
It doesn’t take long to get into town. Because it’s Sunday and it’s late, I make a spectacularly illegal turn into Market Square, and stop on a street that isn't even open to vehicles. I don't care though, because that's when I see them. My headlights illuminate the scene. The four guys from the video feed. Some of them are in ragged shirts and jeans and, for lack of a better description, they look like street bums.
I look at Sabrina. “You can always stay in the car.”
She opens her door.
I follow suit and together we walk to the group. They watch us as we approach. There is one guy in particular, with a long woodsman beard and a bottle of beer in his hand, who watches us with narrowed eyes and a curl in his lips.
The smell is what hits me first. It's a horrible combination of pee, body odor, and something else, completely indefinable.
I reach into my back pocket and take out my cell. Victoria’s picture is already displayed. “Hey,” I hold it up. “Have you seen this girl? She was here a couple days ago.”
The guy with the beer looks me up and down like I'm something slimy and three-headed. I don't back down. I barely refrain from glaring at him too.
I turn to another guy and ask him the same question. I show him the picture.
Sabrina moves beside me. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a handful of cash. A quick glance and I see a few twenties. She extends her hand.
I take the money from her and pull out my wallet. I add another one hundred and seventy five dollars to the total. “Look, guys, we're not Corps or anything. We just want to know if you saw her. That's all.”
One of the guys blows cigarette smoke in our face. I look at him and my whole body tenses. He takes another drag.
I try one last time. But if I thought they would be forthcoming, I was wrong. They just stand there and continue to glare, and the asshole beside me keeps blowing smoke in my face. Finally, I look at Sabrina and wordlessly pocket the money, and we step back and start for the car. But before we take two steps, the guy with the beer bottle calls out.
“Hey,” he says, “I might've seen her.”
“When?”
“Lil' bid ago.”
Sweat rolls down my face and back. It’s so humid. I don’t wipe it away though. I don’t want to let these guys know I’m uncomfortable in any way.
“What was she wearing?”
He shrugs.
“Did you see anyone with her?”
“Nope. She was by her lonesome.”
I know he's lying. Mr. King would have been with her. I decide then and there this is just a waste of time so I nod and start walking again. Sabrina is right beside me, but then, in the next instant, she screams and is jerked back. The man with the beer bottle has her by the arm and he's trying to get his hand into her jeans pocket, searching for more money. Yeah, she's strong and tall, but the guy is stronger and taller.
I take a step to run over to them, but Cigarette Guy steps in my way. He grabs my shirt with both hands to hold me back.
I don't think. I simply strike.
I punch the man’s face, wondering if it actually hurt him more than it hurt me. A shooting pain goes up my arm and back down. It only lasts for a moment. But the pain is not debilitating; in fact, it just makes me more angry. I punch him again and he falls on the ground, holding his nose. Someone grabs me from behind. I turn and swing, but the guy is so greasy my fist seems to just skim right off him. He's a better fighter than the first and he comes back with a punch that puts stars in my eyes. Another punch and the moon joins them.
Through the rush in my ears, I hear Sabrina scream. I don't know if it's because she saw me get hit, or because someone is hurting her.
The greasy guy tries to hit me again, but I charge him. His swing is too wide, and it misses me completely. I knock him to the ground, but manage to keep my own footing. I run over to Sabrina. She's pulling, kicking, trying wildly to get away, and for a minute she does, but the guy tackles her and they fall.
I am on him in a second. I wrap one hand around his throat and yank him up by the hair with the other. I almost lose him though; he’s sweating so much it’s like he’s covered in Crisco. His punch comes out of nowhere and my head snaps to the side. He punches me again and I feel the sting in my lip, then warm blood. But when he tries to get another shot in, I duck and come back up with an uppercut, and hear his teeth click together. He falls to the ground, and I straddle his chest and punch him once, twice. A third time.
“Derek, stop!” Sabrina yells. “Let's go!”
She screams again and I finally let it penetrate. I get up and grab her hand. My knuckles are killing me. We run to the car and just as I slam my door shut, my entire side window explodes.
“Aah!” Sabrina screams.
Pellets and shards of glass rain down on me. The fourth guy, who must’ve run and got the bat somewhere, rears it up again and swings down in a hard arc against the windshield. It does not shatter but, with a horrible, high-pitched crunch, splinters and fans out in a grotesque spider web.
I throw my car in reverse and slam on the gas. The engine roars and hollers, but for some reason we’re stuck in place. I feel like I'm in a cartoon, where the cat is moving, but he's not moving.
Sabrina screams again as Greasy Guy throws himself against her door. He sticks out his tongue, his gestures obscene. Cigarette Guy delivers another blow to the windshield. And most terrible of all, the guy who first attacked Sabrina is getting to his feet. I see the gun in his hand.
“You son of a bitch!” he screams.
Sabrina screams my name. I slam on the accelerator and the car still doesn't move.
The main guy raises the gun and fires. The bullet hits my headlight. “You're a fucking dead man!”
“Derek,” Sabrina screams, “hurry!”
He's walking to us fast, getting closer and closer.
“Go!”
“I'm trying!”
The guy fires again. The bullet hits the top of my car. My foot stomps on the gas and that's when I finally understand what's happening. My car is a stick shift. I'm in neutral. I jerk the gear shift and abruptly, finally, we're moving. The back tires swerve and mark the pavement but we're moving. The guy fires repeatedly as I reverse farther and farther away from him. I hit a trashcan, which sends both Sabrina and me flying forward, but I put the car in drive and we're heading down Stanwix, the mob long gone behind us.
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 pill 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.”
Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) Page 11
