“Then prove it. Tell me what you know.”
“I’m not going to tell you shit ‘til I see that cash.”
I bite my tongue and force myself to think. Anger is right beneath my skin, and it is almost painful not to stomp over and just beat the guy senseless until he tells me what he knows. We could go on all day like this: him demanding to see the money first; me demanding he tell me what he knows first. Fine…we’ll just have to reach a compromise.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. I don’t normally have money like this on me, but with everything happening, I totally forgot to give it back to Sabrina. I take the cash and hold it up for him to see.
“There. Now tell me what you know.”
Another few seconds pass. Finally, Cigarette Guy steps toward me. I take an instinctive step back. The guy, up close and in the light, is even grosser than I thought. His face is crater-like and scarred, and his teeth look like the remnants of chewed up candy corn. His pupils are heavily dilated. He keeps wiping at his nose. And he still smells.
I give him a look. It’s his turn now to show his hand.
“That girl you were talking about, I saw her. She was with this older guy. Her dad right?” When I don’t answer, he continues, “Anyway, she was there. I asked her for some money. Figured she had some considering her fucking purse looked like it cost a mint. But she didn’t even look at me. Kept walking on by.”
I don’t say a word. I hope my expression doesn’t give away a thought.
The guy shifts on his feet again and sucks in a wet breath through his nose. “So she walks away. She’s a bitch and I let it go.”
“Did you see anyone else approach her?”
The guy eyes my hand with the money. I can practically see saliva drip from his lips. I clench my fist tighter.
He shakes his head. “Naw, man. No one approached her. But I, uh, I did hear a gun shot. I know that sound like my mother’s voice.”
“Did you run to get help?”
“Shit, run to get help? You kidding me? Corps will think I did it.”
“So what did you do?”
“I ran toward the sound. Wanted to see what was up.”
“And? Who did you see? What did he look like?”
My heart is pounding as I wait for his answer. It only takes him a second, but in that time I feel like a lifetime has passed. Finally, he looks at me.
“No, man,” he says. “No one was there. She shot that dude. I saw her do it.”
VICTORIA
Twenty-One Days Before Victor King’s Death
(Early Afternoon)
I stand in front of the window, watching him sit in the car. He’s been parked in the driveway for over half an hour now. He hasn’t moved an inch. He’s just staring out the windshield, seeing God knows what.
His face is pale, his expression blank. I would think he was meditating or something if not for the tears that pour, and I mean pour, from his eyes. It’s weird that his shoulders don’t shake or his mouth doesn’t even frown.
My own eyes stay dry.
An hour passes. Then two. Neither of us moves.
Finally, he wipes his face. He leans over, resting his forehead on the wheel. And then he’s out of the car and walking to the house.
Quietly, I retreat down the hallway to my room. I grab my book bag and head to my car.
With every step I take, anger pounds through my veins.
Images of Dad crying flash in front of me.
But for the first time, I don’t feel sorry. Not now. Not when I know the truth.
For the first time, I feel absolute, unadulterated hate.
DEREK
Rain finally falls. Lightning splits the sky and thunder shakes the house.
Doesn't bother me in the slightest. I was never afraid of thunderstorms. Even when I was young, while other kids my age cried when those crooked, jagged bolts of lightning extended down from the sky like the gnarled arms of a monster, I laughed at the storm.
Vividly, I remember being eight years old when a horrific storm settled directly over the house. I was in bed. The branches outside my window scratched and scraped the glass. The leaves writhed and moved, as if in real, physical pain. Thunder was followed immediately by lightning. My night light flickered and then went out completely. I was plunged into absolute darkness.
But I wasn’t scared. How could I be? I knew, undoubtedly and without question that my dad was just in the room next door. He was like Bishop, the X-Men character who could absorb the energy of a blast and use it to grow stronger. Lightning could hit him all it wanted. It was harmless.
“Derek?” Dad comes out on the porch, the light from inside making it impossible to see his face. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. He’s gone.”
He crosses the distance between us and stops right beside me.
“Who was that?”
“Just some guy. He says he saw Victoria the night her father was shot.”
“And?”
I stare out into the night. I’m not really seeing anything, and I wonder if maybe that’s the problem.
“Derek?”
“Nothing,” I say. “He saw nothing. Just…made stuff up to cause trouble.”
Dad doesn’t say anything. He gives me this look, and it makes me instantly regret my lie. I bow my head. “Dad, I—”
“Derek,” Mom calls from the porch door. “You staying?”
I look over. Her silhouette is small, more fragile than I ever realized. Breakable. In my hesitation, Dad’s voice softly comes to me. “It’s not too late.”
Crickets chirp. Tires roll along wet asphalt. The wind kicks up and it’s like being wrapped in a too-warm blanket. I meet Dad’s gaze.
“Yeah,” I say, “That’s what I’m hoping.” Before he can reply, I go to Mom and open the door, but I don’t step in. I just wrap my arms around her and hug her tight. She’s surprised at first, but then rests her head against my chest.
“I can’t eat now, Mom. I got to go.”
“Where are you heading?”
“I uh, I have some things I need to do.”
“Well, you be careful. Watch out driving in this weather. You know how crazy people get when it rains.”
I smile. “I will.”
The porch door closes between us and I watch as Mom heads back to the kitchen. Dad is still at the railing.
“Call me when you can,” he says. “And Derek?”
“Yes?”
“If you ever need me, I’m here.”
I nod. It’s raining harder now. As I look at Dad, I think of that time when I was eight. I think of my father, ready to defend me against the worst of any storm.
I imagine that bolt of lightning shooting down into his chest. But instead of him absorbing its power, instead of him growing stronger, this time he's just shocked. He falls to the ground, unable to withstand a force so much stronger than him.
For the first time, a tingle of fear crawls up my spine as I head to my car. But I don’t get far.
Red and blue lights appear atop the hill. Corps van.
And it’s heading my way.
VICTORIA
Twenty-One Days Before Victor King’s Death
(Afternoon)
Sweat races down my back as I stand on his porch, waiting for the door to open. He’s not home, but Robin’s car is parked out front. Even better.
“Hey,” Robin says as she opens the door. “How are you? Come on in.”
She steps aside and I move into the foyer. I adjust my book bag on my shoulder. “William still at work?”
“Of course. It’s a miracle if he’s home by nine anymore.” She chuckles. “So what’s up? You thirsty, hungry? Want something to eat? Here, come on into the kitchen.”
Robin beckons for me to follow and we both head to the back of the house. She immediately busies herself at the refrigerator, calling out a list of what’s inside.
“Hey,” I interrupt, “do you care if I use your bathroom
? I just put gas in my car and my hands smell.”
“Oh sure. Go for it.”
She grins and turns back to the refrigerator. I head to the stairs but stop before I go up them. I lean back, straining to see into the kitchen. Robin is standing at the island now. She’s chopping something red.
Taking my chance, I hurry across the foyer to the stairs leading to the basement. I tip-toe down as quietly and quickly as I can, sweating more than ever, even though William’s AC is blasting. I adjust my book bag again.
The lights automatically come on the minute I step into the cavernous basement. I feel like a burglar trying to escape from a maximum security vault. Tingles race from my heels to my hair as I round the corner and William’s gun collection comes into view.
Glass cases line the walls. Most are filled with antiques, but five hold nothing but rifles, some which date back to the nineteenth century. And then there’s the display at the end, the one with the handguns. Some are as small as my palm, their pearl-plated handles looking incongruously pretty against the gleaming metal. Other guns are big as my arm from elbow to wrist with a barrel that could swallow you whole.
But I’m not looking for anything so decorative or memorable. What I need is something simple yet effective; scary yet concealable. The Sig Sauer. I need William’s Sig Sauer. But as I step in front of the case, as I rest my fingers on the handle, I stop dead.
The Sig Sauer is already gone.
DEREK
I throw myself inside, Dad right behind me. He shoves me into the kitchen and I duck behind the small island just as the front door opens. I hear Dad’s voice. And then another voice. An accented, male voice.
Captain Jace Pearce.
My body goes still and I crouch down even lower, even though I can't see anyone and no one can see me. My heart is pounding as I listen to Captain Pearce ask Dad where I am.
“He left,” Dad answers.
“Do you know where he is?”
“No. I don't keep tabs on him that way. Is there a message you want me to give him?”
“Actually, I have a few questions for you, if that's alright.”
Dad scoffs. Yeah, he knows it too. People don't really have a choice when a Corps soldier—let alone their captain—wants to ask you questions.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Shoot away. You’re good at that.”
Silence. And despite it all, I feel a small grin tug at my lips.
“Does your son own a computer?”
Shit. Grin falls.
“No. He uses the one in the house.”
“May I see it?”
“It's right there.” I know Dad is pointing to the corner of the living room where a small desktop sits on an end table. To tell the truth, I never use the thing. It's ancient.
“That's the only computer you own?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to confiscate that. I'll try to return it, but I make no promises.”
No one speaks for several moments, but I hear footsteps and things shift and I know the computer is being picked up this very moment. The front door opens and then shuts.
“Mr. Archer,” Jace says. Ah, so he must have other soldiers with him. “Are you sure you don't know where your son is?”
“Yep.”
“And if I looked round the house?”
“You won’t find him.”
“And the car out front?”
“It’s mine.”
A pause. “Funny.”
“What?”
“Your shoes. It’s rather muddy out and the prints leading from the car to the porch are fresh. But your shoes are quite clean.”
“I changed.”
Another beat of silence. I’m straining my ears for the slightest movement.
“Is there any way for you to get ahold of him?
“None.”
A pause. Then: “Is that the truth?”
Dad's voice cuts through me as he answers, “No, sir. But he's my son. My only son. And that's all the truth you're going to get. So arrest me if you want to. I don't care. But you've done enough. Now leave him alone.”
My eyes instantly well. My heart expands in my chest.
“I never approved of the sniper taking a shot at your son. But I warned him. I told him to stay away from her.”
“It doesn't change the fact that he was shot. And whether it was with a bullet or feather, it doesn't matter. Your soldiers hurt him.”
“My soldiers were following orders.”
“And that gives them carte blanche to just do whatever they want with no consequences?”
There’s a small pause before Captain Pearce says, “Derek is in trouble. Tell him to contact me.”
And then the front door opens and shuts. I can breathe again.
VICTORIA
The ugly man comes in. He is everything Jace is not. He's the black curl on a burning piece of paper. He's suffocating. Enjoys making things burn. He likes watching things wither and die.
I huddle against the wall.
He throws a threadbare towel at me. “Get undressed.”
DEREK
Mom’s body is stiff as steel. She’s holding a dinner plate in one hand, a dishtowel in the other. She stares from Dad to me and back again.
“Tell me,” she says, her voice fine as a razor, “what the hell is going on.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Don’t play games with me, Derek. I didn’t just have three Corps soldiers in my living room over nothing. So you tell me, and you better tell me now. And it better be the truth.”
I don’t know what to say. I blink and cast my eyes down.
Dad finally speaks up. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”
“You better tell me more than that.” When he doesn’t, she raises her voice and spits out, “I want to know what’s going on. Someone tell me.”
Swallowing, I finally look up at Mom and say, “It’s Victoria. I’m trying…I’m helping…” I sigh. “The Corps thinks she killed her father. I’m trying to prove otherwise.”
Mom goes totally still; I don’t even think she blinks once in the next three minutes. She just stares at me, and I can’t tell if she’s pissed, annoyed, accepting, or confused. The only real movement in her expression is the color that rises to her cheeks.
“Mom,” I say, holding my hand out. “She’ll die if I don’t.”
And just like that, she shakes her head. And scoffs. And puts her hands up. And starts pacing. Whatever was holding her back before is long gone now.
“Well you know what? That’s too bad, because I like Victoria, I always have. When you first brought her home, I liked her. But she’s in jail, Derek, and she’s there for a reason—”
“The Corps is wrong and—”
“Don’t you interrupt me. I’m not done talking.”
I close my mouth.
“She made her bed. She needs to lay in it.”
“It’s not that—”
She raises her hand, palm to me. I shut my mouth.
“Now I feel bad for her, I do. But you trying to…whatever you’re doing…is stupid. It’s stupid and childish, and it won’t change a thing. The Corps investigated and whatever they found, it was good enough to lock her away. And you need to stay away from her.”
“They’re wrong. She’s just convenient for them to blame.”
She has an incredulous look on her face as she says, “This is what they do, Derek. They’re not stupid. They investigate, they get evidence, they gather facts. They’re not just randomly pointing to someone and hauling them in.” Mom steps back. She looks over at Dad. “You knew about this? You knew what he was doing?”
“Sarah, he’s nineteen. We can’t—”
“Bullshit!” she slams the plate on the end table. It crashes and shatters, and I jump. Her eyes go wide with fury. “I don’t care how old you are! We’re your parents and you’re not doing this. Your little investigation is over.”
“Mom,” I say, th
e words killing me as I say them, “I can’t do that.”
“You’re going to. From this moment on, you are done. Finished.”
“I’ve read the reports. The evidence they have is flimsy at best, only proving they just want somebody to blame.”
“You read reports? What reports? How? Derek, what are you doing?” She brings both hands to the side of her head, pressing against her temples. “What, you think you’re going to find something they missed? You think you’re going to see the one clue they hadn’t and save the day?” She shakes her head. “The real world doesn’t work like that, Derek. Trust me! Take it from someone who’s lived longer than you, who’s been though more than you. You don’t just investigate and then all of a sudden pieces come into place. You don’t just wake up one morning and decide hey, I’m going to solve a major crime and in the process, go against everything I’ve ever worked for.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Then what do you call it?”
“I proposed to her. I love her and I can’t just leave her in there.”
Mom’s expression hardens. “I don’t care what you did. She’s in jail. You are not going to anchor yourself to that.”
Fissures of anger begin to crack through my guilt, my love for Mom, my wanting to please her. I do my best to tamp it down, try to see things from her angle.
“Mom,” I say, my voice softer, “don’t do this to me.”
“And what are you doing to me? Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand the danger you’re putting yourself in? Doesn’t that matter?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“The fact that you think that is scary. You won’t be fine.”
I shut my eyes and breathe deep, feeling like a knife is twisting in my gut. I take two steps, but Mom grabs my elbow and spins me back to face her. “No,” she says. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Mom, let go.”
“You have PMAA to think about. You have your apartment. You have a career and a life waiting for you, and you can’t just throw all that away on some delusion!”
“Mom.”
Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) Page 14
