Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) (4 page)

VICTORIA

Victoria, you're under arrest

for the murder of your father.

DEREK

The US Steel Tower was purchased by the Corps two years before they officially came into power. It's the fourth largest building in Pennsylvania, and the first twenty floors of the building were turned into courtrooms. The next thirty-two floors were turned into administrative offices, cafeterias, interrogation rooms, and weapons storage. The top twelve floors were renovated to house the jail cells that, if rumors are to be believed, aren’t high enough or wide enough for a person to stand straight up or lay flat out in.

And then there’s the back courtyard.

Surrounded by centuries-old evergreens, a lush landscape of red rose bushes, and stone fountains, it's the place where prisoners come to die. In the beginning, when the Corps first came, it wasn't uncommon to hear the monstrous burst of gun fire every noon and 6PM. Forget church bells tolling, forget the rise and fall of the sun. You could set your watch by the gun shots. No more death by lethal injection. The Corps needed a bigger, more violent example. As years passed, the firing squad only sounded at noon every other day, then once a week. I guess the example worked. People say that the rose bushes, which can be seen from Sixth Avenue, always look so beautiful because they use the prisoners’ remains as fertilizer.

In other words, the Steel Tower was judge, jury, and executioner all in one.

I walk through the front doors and before I even make it ten feet in, two guards stop me. I am patted down, told to take my shoes off, then shoved into a huge glass tube. It seals shut just as a laser grid falls over me like a giant net. A monitor across from me lights up with text:

Height: 6’

Weight: 174.5 lbs

Body fat: 8%

Total Body Water: 128.625 lbs

Muscle Mass: 20.15 lbs

Bone Mass: 26.725 lbs

Body Temperature: 100.1°F.

Heart rate: 112 BPM

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Blond

Distinguishing features:

3” Vertical scar on upper right thigh;

Melanocytic nevus on lower back

X-Ray Reveal:

Firearms–None Found

Metals–None Found

Lasers/heat weapons–None Found

Gun powder/explosives–None Found

Finally, the red net evaporates and the tube opens. I’m told to step out.

“Take the escalator up,” the guard says, pointing to his right. “Main desk will be right in front of you.”

“Can I get my shoes back?”

“When you're done.”

Great. I make my way to the escalator, slipping a bit on the polished tile. Soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders guard every elevator and exit. They watch every step. My heart hammers in my chest and I'm not even at the front desk.

The ride to the main floor feels like it takes forever; the walk to the desk feels like it takes even longer. More soldiers. More guns. More hawk-eye glares all trained on me.

“Hello,” I say, my voice more timid than I would have liked, so I clear my throat and continue, firmer, “I'm here to see Captain Pearce.”

“Who?” the soldier behind the desk asks.

“Captain Pearce.”

“Who?”

I hesitate. Is this guy for real? But then he smirks and I realize he's just being an asshole. He knows exactly who I'm talking about.

“Get outta here, kid,” he says. “You're not seeing anyone.”

“I'm sorry. It's just...he brought someone in and I really need—”

“You
need
?” The soldier stands and plants both fists on the desk, leaning forward so we're practically nose to nose. He's a big guy, not just height-wise, but he's got to weigh north of two hundred and fifty pounds. It's odd to see a heavy soldier, just because the standards of athleticism, skill, and intelligence required to even try out for the Corps are so high. This human bulldozer doesn't look like he could do simple math, let alone a sit up.

“Let me tell you something, Blondie. I don't give a shit about what you need. Now get the fuck outta here before I throw you out.”

Three soldiers approach me. Two are holding their batons in front of them, one has a rifle trained on me. It gets really, really quiet. The AC is blasting, but sweat pops out on my forehead. I raise my hands.

“Look,” I say, making my voice as calm and nonthreatening as possible, “I'm not here to cause trouble. My girlfriend was brought here and I just need to speak with Captain Pearce.”

The fat solider comes around the desk and stands in front of me. This time, he leans so close that if I were to lick my lips, I'd probably lick his too. I hear the baton slide out of his holster before I feel it jab against my chest. “You keep saying what you need. Why the fuck do you keep saying what you need?”

He jabs me again. Harder this time. It makes me step back. The other three soldiers start to close in like sharks smelling blood. I try again to explain, to apologize, but the words seem to float in air before totally disappearing. People walk around us but none of them stop. None of them even look over. Either this is a daily occurrence that they're so used to they're bored by it, or they're scared.

It’d be hard to make a bet on which.

“Please,” I say, “I don't want trouble.”

Fat Guy makes his voice high-pitched and whiny. “
Please. I don't want trouble
.”

Then, quicker than I thought he could ever move, he snaps his arm out. The baton hits me right on the curve of my shoulder so hard I fall to the ground. A boot kicks into my stomach. Not hard enough to knock the wind out of me, but hard enough to hurt.

The soldiers laugh above me. I look up just in time to see Fat Guy pull his baton high above his head, his eyes trained right on my face.

“That's enough.”

Captain Pearce's voice is like a subzero wind. It freezes everyone. He looks at me, then Fat Guy, then the others around us.

“What's going on here?”

Fat Guy answers, “He was demanding to see you. Acting like a real lunatic, too.”

I have to bite my tongue—literally—to keep quiet. An asshole and a liar. The combination makes my skin crawl. The three other soldiers quietly disperse, leaving just Captain Pearce, Fat Guy and me.

“Just gimme the word,” Fat Guy continues, “and I'll throw him out on his ass.”

Captain Pearce meets my gaze. His expression remains as closed as ever. He tells me to stand, and the minute I'm on my feet, Fat Guy grabs my arm. But as quickly as his fist tightens around me, Pearce's voice snaps out, “Release him.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Finally, Captain Pearce looks at Fat Guy. “Now.”

Even the dumbest person knows when he's outclassed, outranked, and just plain outmatched. With a hard shove, he lets go of my arm and walks away, cursing the entire time. Neither Captain Pearce nor I move until we see him disappear through a metal door.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I didn't mean to cause any trouble.”

He sighs softly. “Come with me.”

VICTORIA

His eyes scare me
. They look at me like they have never looked at me. I have never seen him look so:

angry

betrayed

bitter

wrathful

furious.

William.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens. Closes. He wants to say something. Dying to say something. Doesn’t know what to say. He suddenly stands. The metal chair screams as it is dragged across the cold linoleum floor. His hands are fisted. His face is fisted.
His whole body is a tight fist and it rains a thousand blows on me just by standing so still
.

His eyes scare me. They look at me like they have never looked at me. I have never seen him look so:

hurt

disbelieving

defenseless

vulnerable

lost

heartbroken.

He wants to hit me
. He doesn't want to touch me. He wants to scream at me. He doesn't want to waste his breath. He wants to ask me why/what/when/how/where/who. He doesn't know where to begin. Instead, he turns and, without a word, walks away and
doesn't look back
.

He followed in his car behind me. He was the first person to see me. I thought he was here to help. Now I know.

I need new counsel.

DEREK

We ride up the elevator to the twenty-first floor together. His office is at the very end of the hallway. He punches in a five-digit key code and the steel door opens with a soft swoosh.

“Sit down,” Captain Pearce says as he shuts the door and points to the chair by his desk. I take a seat, my eyes moving over the many devices on his desk, including several iBullets, e-tablets, and some other things I’ve never even seen before. One looks like a huge spider. With cameras. There are about five flatscreens on one wall, each tuned in to different news channels. I quickly avert my gaze as a picture of an older woman flashes on the screen.

It’s a familiar image, so familiar in fact that it doesn’t even really register anymore. It’s not that I don’t care; it’s not that I don’t sympathize. But I believe this is what we call desensitization. After all, for the last three weeks, that story’s been all anyone can talk about.

Issy Campbell, with her dishwater blond hair, light complexion, green eyes, and small smile, looks more like she’s posing for a grainy mug shot than, as the news anchors say, a photo at South Park. It was apparently taken right around the time she died, though no one has been able to find the person holding the camera. 

The photo is all anyone can show on screen when they mention that this local resident was beaten to death in her home—hit with a blunt object. Actually, that’s not totally true. They’ll also flash the room where she was found, huge blood stain and all. And then, of course, they always cut to the people. Public outcry has been loud and furious. They want—are demanding—justice for this woman. In this new society where a thief's hand can be cut off, a liar's tongue burned away, and a cheater's eyes gouged out, there is no room for murderers.

And Victoria is being charged as one.

Captain Pearce goes to a small refrigerator beside his desk. He pulls out a water bottle and says as he hands it to me, “I don't have ice, but here. This should help with the pain and bruising.”

I accept it but don't place it on my shoulder. “I just want to know about Victoria. Why are you accusing her of this? She would never—
could never
—kill her father.”

“When we spoke at the hospital, you mentioned the two of them had been arguing.” He sits behind his desk. “Care to explain what about?”

“Is that why she’s here?” I ask incredulously. “God, I just said that! And if that’s the only piece of evidence you’ve got then—”

Captain Pearce raises his hand. I shut up. “Answer the question.”

I throw my hands up and sigh. “I don't even know. The normal stuff, I guess. I mean, if it was something big she'd tell me. The fact that she never made a huge deal out of it means it was nothing.”

“Has Victoria confided in you about the night her father was shot? Told you anything?”

“Of course not. She's been practically comatose since the shooting. You saw her at the hospital. You saw how upset she was. Now please, just tell me what you think you have on her to even make the accusation.”

“Derek, it's an ongoing investigation. I can't tell you anything about it.”

“And you found evidence?”

“Of course.”

“Then it's wrong.”

He gives me a look as if I should know better.

“Can I see her?”

“I'm sorry, no.”

“Why?”

“Standard procedure.”

I sit back, my mouth pressed together, a scowl on my face. I run both hands through my hair. “You can't believe Victoria killed her own father. You can't. You don't know her. You don't know the relationship she had with him.” I lean forward. “I love her. I
know
her. Please. Just let me see her. I’ll talk to her and we can get this whole thing sorted out.”

Captain Pearce says nothing. His expression reminds me of William’s: no room for argument, no chance for explanation.

I feel a lump in my throat grow harder and harder. I feel the tears begin to push their way against my eyes. My face starts to heat. I whisper, “Can you at least...can you just tell me if she's okay?”

His expression softens. He sighs. “She's safe.”

I nod and take a breath. I want to tell him more but then he stands and I know I have to too. We both head out to the elevators and take the car down together. Questions race through my mind: what will happen next? What the hell is “standard procedure” anyway? What kind of accent do you have and where are you from? How, since we closed the borders, did you even get into the United States? But I know I’d be wasting my breath. Captain Pearce owes me nothing, least of all answers. But you know what? This isn’t about what he owes me. It’s about what he owes Victoria and his job and making sure justice is done.

We reach the main floor and the doors open. I don’t step out of the car. Instead, I face him squarely and say, “I know this girl. Her mother died in childbirth, she and her older brother aren't close. Her dad was all she had. She didn't kill him.”

The doors begin to shut. Captain Pearce extends his hand to keep them open. “Thank you.”

With nothing more to say, I leave the car. I hear the doors shut but don’t look back as I walk to the escalator. Fat Guy is back behind his desk, and he calls me princess and blondie as I pass him. My fists clench, but I don't acknowledge him in any other way.

I collect my shoes and, as I crouch down to retie a lace, I hear footsteps behind me. The whip-like, furious cadence of them has me looking up.

William.

Just seeing him rejuvenates me, blasts away some of my despair and gives me hope. I may be nothing but a lowly piece of pond scum to the Corps, but William is like a walking, talking golden key: he can get into any room. Get any answer.

He blows by me without a word, though his eyes shift to me right before he pushes through the revolving door. I hurry to my feet and follow him.