Not Even Past

by Dave White

  He inhaled again and pulled on his phone. It slipped from his pocket, but once his hand was free, his fingers went slack. The phone clattered out of his hands. Donne tried to twist his head to look for it, but he couldn’t. His motor functions were impaired. His limbs weren’t working, and even if he found his phone, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to dial.

  Better to focus on crawling.

  Donne pulled himself forward again, his nails digging into the grooved floor. He pulled himself ahead, each inch feeling like a country mile. The door swung open and closed in the wind before him. At this point, there was no plan. All he wanted was to get out into the open. Try to get to where someone could see him.

  Where someone could find him.

  Stay alive long enough to be found and get to a hospital. He opened his mouth again and tried to force the words out.

  “Help,” hissed from his lips. “Me.”

  It worked. But now he was out of breath. The strength had gone out of him. He couldn’t pull himself any longer. His arms went slack and his head slammed into the floor. He was able to turn it sideways, as if he was sleeping on his stomach.

  The static faded and he could hear the water again. Somewhere a bird crowed. He worked his mouth again, fought air into his lungs.

  The image of Jeanne formed before his eyes. But it twisted and morphed into Kate. She reached for him. Donne tried to lift his arm to reach for her. Like a professional wrestler mugging for the crowd, he got his arm up, but it slammed back into the ground.

  “Help me,” he said. A full sentence this time.

  “Oh my God, Jackson! Oh my God!”

  Brakes screeched. Car doors opened and closed.

  Donne shut his eyes and waited to die. Kate faded away from him. Pain bubbled in his chest and his side. He wanted to scream, but couldn’t muster the strength.

  Footsteps clattered against the metal floor. More than one person.

  “Mr. Donne?” he heard. The voice was familiar. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. It’s good you called.”

  He tried to open his eyes, but it felt like anvils had been tied to the lids. He couldn’t call for anyone.

  “No, no, no. You can’t die.” Was Kate really here?

  “Your friend made quite a mess outside.” The man was crouching over him.

  Donne turned his head and forced his eyes open. He looked up, but could only see a body covered in shadow.

  The shadow reached out his hand.

  “You can’t die yet, Jackson.” Kate’s voice was shrill and whimpering.

  The world went black.

  BILL MARTIN wanted to ask a million questions, but he felt like Jeanne should start. Jeanne, however, didn’t say a word. She reclined the passenger seat and had her forearm resting over her eyes.

  The Parkway going south was empty, which was a good thing, because Martin was having a hell of a time concentrating. His hands wanted to shake, they begged him to shake, but he gripped the steering wheel hard to stop them. His knuckles turned white instead.

  Twice he opened his mouth, then shut it again. Instead of talking, he stared ahead at the glowing lights of a sedan or two in the distance.

  “WHERE ARE we?” Jeanne snapped her head up off the rest.

  Before Martin could answer, Jeanne said, “No. No, no, no. We can’t go here, Bill.”

  “We have to figure things out,” he said. “All of us.”

  Martin turned down the Bakers’ street. The garbage had been removed from the curbs. Not too many cars were parked on the street.It felt like a ghost town.

  And here he was with a living ghost.

  “You will get them killed, Bill. They will die.”

  “What are you talking about? What is going on?”

  “Turn the car around.”

  He rolled forward, scanning the house fronts, looking for her parents’ place. It seemed further up the road this time, as opposed to this afternoon.

  “Turn the car around, Bill.”

  “No one followed us here. I made sure of it.”

  “Who do you think you’re dealing with?”

  Martin pulled the car over. They weren’t in front of her parents’ place. Not yet. But he couldn’t have this conversation and drive at the same time.

  “I don’t know who we’re dealing with, Jeanne. As far as I knew this morning you were still dead. And—” He wanted to bring up William’s name. It’d been rattling around in his brain all day. But he wasn’t ready to confront that part just yet.

  “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t even been here.”

  “Why did they track down Jackson, then?”

  The look on her face said it all. At that moment, it dawned on him. She hadn’t even flinched when he shot Jackson Donne. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. He couldn’t keep his from hands shaking if he tried.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who is after you?”

  She reached out and touched Martin’s face. It wasn’t a caress and it wasn’t loving, but his cheek still burned warm at her touch.

  “Go home. Let me run again.”

  Martin shook his head. “Can’t.”

  “It’s been six years, Bill.”

  Martin reached over and turned down the radio. The air-conditioner was pumping, but everything else felt very still. His shoulders were loose, but his stomach was tight. He’d hoped that finding Jeanne would cause his hands to go still, but the shaking was worse than ever. Part of him thought maybe he needed a doctor to check them out.

  “I have so many questions.”

  Jeanne shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “I can’t.”

  Now the tightness in his stomach travelled up to his shoulders. He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel and the horn beeped. Jeanne flinched.

  “I saved you!” Inside his shoes, his toes curled.

  “I saved myself. Six years ago.”

  “And tonight?”

  She shrugged again. Martin wanted to slam the steering wheel again but restrained himself.

  “I would have figured it out.” She crossed her legs. “I’m trying to save you. I’m still trying to save my parents, and I’m trying to save William.”

  “You let me believe he was dead too.” Martin spit it out.

  Jeanne turned pale.

  “Years ago, years ago you told me he was mine. And then you died.”

  Jeanne didn’t say a word.

  “You needed me to hurt. Because if I was hurt, I wouldn’t dig.”

  “I’m going to leave now,” she said.

  “No.”

  She reached for the door handle, but Martin was quicker. He hit the autolock and put the car back into drive. Accelerated before she could get out.

  “We’re going to talk to your parents. We’re going to see William.”

  “This is a mistake, Bill.”

  Martin shrugged. He thought about the day she walked out of his life. How he wanted to chase her.

  “I’ve made them before,” he said.

  “Please. Let’s find a motel at least,” Jeanne said.

  Martin could see her parents’ home now. There was a light on in the front room, and the porch light was on as well. Someone was still awake. He accelerated a little bit, and then pulled to the right to make a U-turn. He would park in front of their house.

  “Please. I can’t see them tonight. Not like this.”

  Martin stopped the car before making the U-turn. He looked at her. The bruises on her arms were turning yellow. There was a lump on her chin, swollen and red. Her eyes had dark shades under them.

  “Jesus,” he said. As if seeing her for the first time, he blinked. “What did they do to you?”

  “Stop asking me questions.”

  The car idled.

  “Listen,” she said. “They know we’re gone, and they going to come here to find us. Where else would we go?”

  “If they’re going to hurt your parents, that’s more reaso
n to be here.” Martin rubbed his chin with his right hand. His left stayed on the steering wheel. He couldn’t trust it to be steady.

  Jeanne shook her head. It was slow and hesitant. Either she wasn’t sure, or the movement was causing her pain.

  “You don’t understand them,” she said.

  “Make me understand!”

  As if a volcano was erupting, the words shot from Jeanne’s mouth. “This is on me, Bill! Me! No one else! Take me to a hotel and go home. Get out of my life. You’re going to get hurt.”

  Martin rolled his neck, cracking it. He blew air from his nose. “You hurt me a long time ago,” he said.

  “For your own good.”

  “How was I supposed to know that?”

  The porch light of the house they were parked in front of went on. Someone had noticed them. In a neighborhood like this—still rattled after Sandy and worried about looters—that likely meant the police were on their way. Martin thought about staying and waiting for the police. He’d badge them, talk to them, make them go away. At that point, though, they’d have attracted a ton of attention, and Jeanne would have no choice but to go see her parents.

  He looked at her again, letting her face come into focus. There were dark circles and the hint of tears at the corner of her eyes. Crows feet had formed at the corners of her eyes. Her laugh lines were deeper.

  “When was the last time you saw William?” he asked.

  She flinched at the name. “When he was three months old.”

  Martin pulled a U-turn, but instead of parking and going inside, he kept driving. There were several motels on Route 9. They weren’t clean and they weren’t high-class, but they were plain. Whoever was looking for her would have a hard time finding them there. He would even pay in cash.

  “You can wait one more night.” He accelerated down the road. “Let’s find a place to get some sleep.”

  MARTIN OPENED his eyes and stretched. There was a sharp pain at the corner where his neck and left shoulder met and his legs were cramped. Sleeping on a loveseat in a hotel room will do that to you.

  Especially at his age.

  He sat up and reached over to the end table for his gun. He hefted it and undid the clip. Everything was still in place. If he got a chance later in the day, he’d need to clean it. Too much was at stake now to have to deal with a rare malfunction because of an owner error.

  Jeanne made a snuffling sound and rolled over on the bed. Martin waited a moment, but she didn’t wake. He listened to her breathing go from momentarily ragged to easy and smooth second later. It had taken her nearly two hours to fall asleep after they checked in. She tossed and turned and cried. Martin made an attempted to go comfort her once, but she moved away from him.

  Now he was content to let her sleep. They’d found a semiclean motel on Route 9 that advertised DRIVING DISTANCE TO THE SHORE and HBO ON THE TV. He also expected clean towels, but that might have been pushing it. The guy behind the desk asked for ID and Martin gave it, but he paid in cash. If whoever was looking for them was monitoring credit lines, Martin wouldn’t be tracked down. At least not today. He had enough money to get them through.

  By the time he had to use an ATM, he was hopeful they’d be well out of state. Of course if Jeanne’s warnings came true, being out of state and staying away from credit cards wouldn’t matter. They would be found.

  Martin put the gun back in his holster and stood up. Still Jeanne didn’t move. He wondered how much sleep she’d gotten when she was captive. An hour here or there? The body can’t keep up with that.

  Peeking out the front window, he saw only his car in the lot. It wasn’t a weekend, so the shore crowd with smaller wallets hadn’t arrived yet. The college kids with their coolers of beer, bathing suits, and just enough cash to get by would be showing up tomorrow. For now, Martin and Jeanne had the place to themselves.

  Coffee, though. That was a problem. Last night, he noticed a complimentary pot in the lobby. With the parking lot empty, it wouldn’t be too hard to keep an eye on things if he walked down to get a few cups.

  He grabbed the key off the table and left, making sure the door quietly clicked closed behind him.

  A bell jingled when Martin walked into the lobby. The same desk clerk came out of the back room and gave Martin a smile.

  “You stayed the whole night.”

  Martin went to the coffeepot and took two Styrofoam cups from the stack. He poured cream in both, but not before checking the date on the package. Then he poured coffee. He couldn’t remember how Jeanne took hers, so he put a couple of sugar packets into his pocket.

  “Usually guys like you, they show up, stay a few hours, towel off, and leave.”

  Martin shook his head. “Just looking for a place to stay.”

  “That’s what they all say. She was cute.” The desk clerk grinned. His teeth were butter-yellow.

  Martin tried to picture whatever the clerk saw. Jeanne had stayed in the car until Martin had checked in, and then she took a quick walk to the room. Guy couldn’t have seen too much. Just her body. Not the bruises all over her skin.

  “Where did you find her? Not around here. Too many cheap dates around here.”

  “Knock it off. She’s a friend.”

  The guy nodded. “Okay.”

  Martin put down his coffee. He remembered Donne jumping across the counter to grab the cashier earlier. He couldn’t let that happen to him. Stay cool.

  The desk clerk shrugged. “Future reference. That’s all.”

  He inhaled. Exhaled.

  “Shut up,” he said.

  “Okay. Okay.” The clerk put up both his hands, palms out.

  “Thank you.” Martin picked up his coffee again and left.

  He walked down the corridor to their room, scanning the parking lot again. Nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed like the venture would be safe. He put down one cup to retrieve his key and unlocked the door.

  When he stepped in, he found Jeanne sitting up in bed. He put the cups down and pulled the sugar from his pocket.

  “You’re up,” he said.

  She looked at him, her eyes wide. There were tears streaked down her face. Her hands were shaking much worse than his.

  “Where were you?”

  “I went to get coffee.”

  “You left me.”

  “I could see the room the whole time.” That was a lie, but he could see the parking lot.

  “You left me here. I was alone. What if someone came for me?”

  “That wasn’t going to happen.”

  She didn’t respond. Instead, she just buried her face into the pillow and wept.

  MARTIN TRIED to wait her out. Let her fight through the shakes and the tears and find the light. He sat on the couch and sipped coffee. She was buried in the sheets somewhere. They shook as she wept. He listened to her, thinking back to the day he got the call about her death.

  He didn’t cry, at least not at first. He was in his office, and the chief had called him. There was a car accident. A blaze the fire fighters had trouble putting out. Another car with empty and half full bottles of whiskey on its floor. The license plate for the burning car led them to Jeanne’s name. The chief was so, so sorry. Martin stared at the phone in his hands while his extremities went cold. After some time—he didn’t know how much—he hung it up and went and closed the door. She’d already left him, promised herself to Jackson Donne. He was out of her life.

  And he couldn’t be involved in her death.

  Now he just watched her. It seemed callous, and he hated himself for that, but somehow he knew if he approached her she’d just shove him away. Matters would be worse. Occasionally, he’d say her name and ask if she needed anything. Jeanne didn’t reply.

  The parking lot was still empty. He’d check through the blinds occasionally, sweeping the courtyard as well for anything suspicious. Other than the traffic picking up on Route 9, everything was quiet. Checkout was scheduled for 10 AM, but he’d pay for another day if he had to. Thou
gh the thought of running into the desk clerk again made his biceps twitch.

  Twenty-five minutes later, the crying started to slow down. Martin finished his last gulp of coffee. It was cold, and the cream he’d added did little to quell the bitter finish. Jeanne’s cup sat on the end table where his glock had sat, untouched.

  Pushing the sheets away, Jeanne looked over at him. He waited. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Her eyes were red. Bags had also formed underneath them. Her nose looked red too, as if she’d been rubbing it.

  “I can’t trust you,” she said.

  Martin wasn’t ready for that one. He sank back into the couch and waited. For the first time, he noticed the cushions smelled like mothballs. The oil and gunpowder smell was finally leaving his nostrils.

  “You left me here, a sitting duck,” she said.

  “Honey—” He immediately regretted it.

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

  “I could see the parking lot the whole time.”

  Jeanne shook her head. “You shot Jackson. Didn’t even flinch. Just aimed and shot him.”

  “He would slow us down.” Martin tried to come up with a believable motive on the spot. “If they find him, maybe it’ll trip them up for a few days, and we can get away.”

  Her head continued to shake. “Bullshit.” She slammed her hand into a pillow. “Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.”

  “Jeanne.”

  “Stop it! Are you with them?” Her eyes were wide, and he could see where the redness ended and the white started again. “Answer me!”

  “I don’t even know who ‘them’ is.”

  An image straight out The DaVinci Code flashed in his mind. A cult of people dressed in white robes staring at a book on the table. In the book were names of people who done wrong. And where they were hiding.

  “You’re going to kill me.”

  “Stop,” he said, holding himself back from calling her crazy. “Jeanne, we need to get out of here.”

  “Where are you going to take me? Back to ‘them’? To dump me in the Atlantic Ocean? I shouldn’t go with you. You abandoned me.”

  “Jeanne, you’re in shock. It’s been a tough couple of days for you.” Understatement of the year. “We need to get you some help and get you the hell out trouble.”