Not Even Past

by Dave White

  Chamber’s hands dropped to her side. She pointed to the computer. “All yours.”

  Kate gave herself a ten count. Then she got out of her chair and rounded the desk. Chambers got out of her way. On the screen of the computer was the press release announcing the new board of trustees. Kate scanned through the names and didn’t recognize the first three.

  She did, however, recognize the fourth.

  Luca Carmine.

  Maggie Chambers pressed a button and asked her secretary for a cup of coffee. Before it was delivered to the office, Kate had saved the file to a zip drive and made her way back to her car.

  EILEEN HELD the door nearly shut and said, “I don’t know who that is.”

  Donne put his hand on the flat part of the door and gave it a little shove. She stepped back. His hand was still slick with sweat.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I can tell you who she is, and you can find her. That’s what you do.”

  Eileen tried to push the door closed, but it didn’t budge against Donne. His shoulder ached at the movement, though. He tried not to grimace.

  “It’s going to cost you money. I’m not cheap.”

  Donne took a breath, reached down, and inched the gun out of his pocket. “Today you are.”

  He expected her to scream and run, or to try again to slam the door in his face again. Instead, she closed her eyes, exhaled, then opened the door. Donne stepped through, and Eileen closed it behind him. The smell of something burning hung in the air. Coffee, maybe. It was an old smell. She needed to open a window.

  They stepped over strewn books to enter her computer room. The whine of servers and computer fans was a low rumble. In his head, it was louder the first time they were there. But his mind had been clouded by a lot of static, and that had to be affecting his hearing.

  This room smelled like wet paper and ink. Preferable to the smell of burnt food. The only thing on her desk besides computers was a coffee cup and a water bottle. The coffee mug was blank, not even a cute phrase written across it.

  “All right,” Eileen said. “Do you have a phone number?”

  Donne shook his head. “Just her name.”

  “Could she be using an alias?”

  “Likely.”

  Eileen turned to him and shrugged. She raised her eyebrows.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Well, then. Something like this could take days.”

  “I don’t have days. I have minutes.”

  Eileen laughed. “Then you might as well shoot me. Or leave.” She typed something. “I’d prefer the latter.”

  Donne’s hand went to his pocket again. “What about Bill Martin? If you can find him, I bet we can find Jeanne.”

  Eileen stopped typing and stared at the screen. Donne’s hand hovered over his pocket.

  “What’s Bill’s phone number?” she asked.

  “You have it.”

  Sighing, Eileen typed some more. Waited. More typing. Donne tried to read the screen over her shoulder, but the text was scrolling too quickly. He couldn’t catch up, and his head ached.

  “Damn it, Bill,” Eileen whispered.

  “You found him?”

  “He didn’t turn his phone off. The GPS tracker. He left it on.”

  Donne smiled. “He never was good with technology. Where is he?”

  Eileen gave him an address. Donne typed it into the Notebook app on his phone. Then he went into settings and turned off Location Services.

  “There. Was that so hard?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she said.

  Donne didn’t respond. He put his phone away and left the room. She didn’t follow him. As Donne found his way out, he made note of the books on the floor. Notebooks full of nearly illegible writings. The shelves were full of how-to type books. And more marble notebooks. He reached down to look at one.

  “Don’t.” Eileen’s voice carried from the other room.

  He hesitated. Eileen was pushing her luck.

  He said, “Why not?”

  “You feel like you’re safe?”

  Donne didn’t answer.

  “If you look in that notebook, you certainly won’t be.”

  He stepped out on to the porch, the wooden planks creaking beneath his feet. The blue Honda Accord was double parked next to his own. Donne’s hand went to the handle of his pistol as the driver’s side door opened. The muscles in his neck tensed, and he flared his nostrils.

  Luca got out of the car.

  Donne bounded down the steps and across the stones into the street. Luca held up two hands to stop him.

  “Got what you’re looking for?” Luca asked.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Get out of here.”

  Donne didn’t say anything. Luca looked him up and down, pausing at his pocket.

  “Did you?” Luca didn’t finish the question.

  “You know what this is for,” Donne said.

  “Then get to it.”

  Donne walked by Luca, around the Accord, and got into his car. He started the engine and looked toward the street. Luca wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t sitting in his own car either.

  Luca was on the porch, ringing the doorbell. Donne rolled down his window to call to him. Before he could, the front door opened, and Eileen said something. If Luca responded, Donne didn’t hear it. He did, however, hear two quick pops.

  Luca turned and got out his cell phone. Donne took one last glance and saw Eileen facedown in the doorjamb. Her body held the front door open.

  The road was empty, and if anyone heard the shots, they hadn’t reacted to them yet. No one was in the street. No cars were coming. It was a ghost town.

  Donne didn’t wait to see what Luca did next.

  A mile and a half away, Donne stopped the car and caught his breath. Then he took out his phone and typed the address Eileen had given him into Google Maps.

  To use the app, Location Services had to be turned back on. He was able to hide himself for all of ten minutes.

  “HOW?” JEANNE asked for the third time.

  Martin pressed the bridge of his nose and index finger. They had moved back into the motel room, which smelled of Lysol and mothballs. Housekeeping had been through, so the room was in order, except for a few Marvel action figures strewn across the desk. The shower was running for William.

  “I don’t know yet. If I can gather enough evidence, I can confront him on Friday.”

  “There’ll be state troopers everywhere. Security will be crawling all over campus. You won’t even get close.”

  Martin shook his head. “But I can get through that.”

  Jeanne shook her head, then fell back on to the bed. “You’re just an ordinary citizen, Bill.”

  Martin sat down next to her. “When this is over—whether or not I do what I say—will you stay with me?”

  Jeanne turned her head away from him. Silence hung in the room like steam after a shower.

  “Will you tell William I’m his father?” Martin kept pushing.

  Jeanne didn’t say a word. Martin reached out and took her hand. He squeezed, gently. She squeezed back for an instant and then pulled it away.

  Martin looked at his shoes. There was a white scuff on the right one.

  “Why didn’t you run farther? Back to Arizona?” Martin looked at the Hulk toy on the desk. “Hell, even Canada?”

  Jeanne rested her hands on her stomach. “If I wanted you to know anything, I would have told you. Haven’t you figured that out by now? You weren’t even supposed to find me. My dad—”

  The shower stopped running.

  “Did you use soap?” Jeanne shouted.

  There was a pause, then the shower started up again.

  Martin exhaled. “I have two days to look into this. You don’t have to worry.”

  “You’ll draw attention to yourself.”

  Martin didn’t answer. His blood was pumping hard, and there was a ringing in his ears.

  “Thank god f
or my parents,” Jeanne said.

  Martin nodded to the bathroom. “How is he handling this? How is he doing?”

  A mumbled song came from the bathroom. William was singing something. It sounded educational. With how loud the shower was, the boy must have been screaming the words.

  Jeanne turned her head. Her hair was splayed out across the comforter. A few strands fell across her eyes and nose. “He’s amazing.”

  “Did you ever think—”

  “I was never going to see him again after he was born. That was the deal. I couldn’t call. I couldn’t Skype.”

  Martin rubbed his chin. “He wasn’t looking. He thought you were dead.”

  “And now ....?”

  Martin leaned back on the couch. “Why hasn’t Stern found you yet?”

  “He will.”

  Jeanne sat up again. She pulled the corner of her shirt up so Martin could see her ribs. And the yellowish bruise that covered them.

  “Tell me I don’t matter to him.”

  Something caught in the back of Martin’s throat. He swallowed.

  “I shouldn’t have asked how William was,” Martin said. “I should have asked how you were.”

  Jeanne looked at the motel room door. “I lost.”

  “The man caused you to fake your own death. When he found out you weren’t dead, he beat you and put you on video. And now he’s trying to turn the state’s education system into the world’s biggest money laundering scheme. I have never said, ‘This goes all the way to the top’ before.” Martin tapped the mattress. “Jeanne, this goes all the way to the top. And there’s only one way to put a stop to it.”

  “You don’t have any proof. And you won’t get any. He’s too careful.”

  Martin smiled. “You had proof six years ago. He’ll slip up again.”

  The shower stopped again, but William kept singing. He was looking for his friends.

  Martin whispered. “It’s shady business. And once the leader goes, everything becomes a black hole.”

  “Someone else will step in.”

  Martin shook his head. “Not immediately. And even so, that person won’t have anything to do with you. You can live your life. And you can raise William right.”

  “You need to leave now,” Jeanne said.

  Martin looked toward the bathroom. “Let me say good-bye.”

  Jeanne shook her head, then stood up. She went to the door of the room and turned the handle.

  “We are safe here,” she said.

  “For how long?” Martin got off the bed and approached the door. “How long are you going to move from hotel to hotel?”

  Jeanne pulled the door open and Martin stepped out into the hallway. There was a nice breeze, and the sun had gone behind some clouds. It didn’t feel like June but the beginning of October.

  “We’ll be fine,” Jeanne said.

  She closed the door. Martin stared at it for a long time. At one point, he raised his hand in a fist to knock, but thought better of it. He turned and headed toward the stairs. The sun came out again, and Martin squinted.

  As he drove out of the parking lot, it felt like paint thinner was eating away at his stomach lining.

  DONNE FIDDLED with the radio as he drove. Phone callers complained about the Yankees, pop radio repeated the same songs over and over, and the news droned on. He turned the radio off and stared ahead at brake lights. His fingers tingled and his seat belt felt too tight across his chest.

  He shifted in the driver’s seat to try to loosen the belt, but it wouldn’t budge. The wound didn’t ache too much, but he remembered being stuck in the bed, just after his escape attempt. They didn’t tie him down, but he was so exhausted, he couldn’t get back up. It felt like there was a band across his chest.

  Henry Stern touched his good shoulder. Donne blinked sweat from his eyes, and tried to sit up. His abs ached in protest, and he was forced to remain prone.

  “You need to rest,” Stern said.

  The room was hot and the air was heavy. Donne’s skin felt like it was on fire.

  “You tried to do too much, and now you have a fever.” Stern’s voice was like cold water. “Don’t worry. We’re going to bring you back.”

  “I have to go,” Donne said.

  Somewhere behind him, he could hear Luca talking. The words were hard to make out—something about blood and ice.

  “Remember,” Stern said. “We’re helping you. You’re going to get better.”

  “Jeanne,” Donne said.

  Stern shook his head. “She’s not trying to help you. She tried to destroy you. Her and her cop friend. They don’t want you around.”

  Donne swallowed. His saliva felt like rocks and it stabbed his esophagus.

  “Is this the life you want to live? Chasing down ghosts and dying because of it? I’ve been there, Jackson.”

  “You aren’t helping.” Donne’s own voice seemed far away. He wasn’t as healed as he thought.

  Not even close.

  Stern nodded. “You and I are very much alike. Jeanne Baker tried to ruin me too. I never thought I’d see her again, but when she showed up at my office—it felt like I lost it all.” Stern tilted his head. “I am saving your life. Your ‘friends’ shot you, abandoned you. Left you to bleed out on a warehouse floor, just another casualty. We have the same enemy, Jackson. Bill Martin killed my friends too.”

  Stern stood up and walked away. Donne stared at the ceiling. The walls seemed to be moving, blurring together and forming one dark blob. Donne leaned his head back deeper in to the pillow and closed his eyes.

  “You were only sent here as a sacrificial lamb, Jackson. You were supposed to die.”

  Donne didn’t speak.

  “You know who the real enemies are. Jeanne Baker and Bill Martin—”

  “Tried to kill me,” Donne hissed.

  He opened his eyes and saw Stern hovering over him again. A smiled crossed the senator’s face.

  “Yes,” Stern said. “They’re in this for themselves.”

  “I can help,” Donne said. He pictured Bill Martin facedown, blood dripping from his lip. Jeanne crying while kneeling over him.

  “You can. You will.”

  Donne’s eyes sagged. Before he could ask any more questions, he was asleep.

  THE TRAFFIC broke up just before Clinton, and Donne was able to settle into an easy drive.

  He put his blinker on and took the exit, seeing the motel in the distance, hovering over the highway like a beacon.

  Stern was right. He couldn’t trust Martin, and he couldn’t trust Jeanne. The thought had pierced his brain once Stern started explaining everything to him. Three weeks lying in a bed, trying to heal, and each day the senator talked about revenge. How his “friends” weren’t anything close to that.

  Each day, Donne began to agree more and more. Each day he replayed the image of Bill Martin shooting him as Jeanne draped herself over him.

  There was only one thing on his mind. The word Stern has used over and over each day.

  Revenge.

  Bill Martin and Jeanne couldn’t go on. They couldn’t start a new life together. That wasn’t fair. They thought he was out of the picture?

  Not a chance.

  Donne pulled into the motel parking lot and parked. As he reached into the console for his gun, he felt like he was back in the church. His heart was hammering, and he was sweating so much, he thought he might have been rained on.

  He hefted the gun and again put it in his pocket. Then he got out of the car and headed past the pool toward the lobby.

  It was time.

  DONNE WALKED into the lobby past the coffee stand to the front desk. The woman behind the desk was whispering on the phone and held up a finger to Donne, asking him to wait. She smiled as she did so, and when she stopped talking she lip-synched an apology to him. Donne smiled back and shrugged.

  He went over to the coffee stand and poured himself a cup. As he was stirring in cream, the receptionist asked if she could help h
im.

  Taking his cup with him, he approached the desk.

  The receptionist smiled. “Maybe you should have gotten a water instead.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re sweating.”

  “Oh, I—” The gun felt heavy in his pocket. “It’s warm out there.”

  The weather was still October-like.

  She shrugged. “Summertime. What can I do for you?”

  “I understand a woman is staying here. Her name is Jeanne Baker.” Donne wished he had a picture. “I need to see her.”

  The receptionist said, “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help you. Motel policy.”

  “Please, I’m her fiancée. I know she’s here.”

  “You’re not the only person to be asking about her today. I’m going to have to call management.”

  For an instant, the words didn’t register. Then Donne reached across and put his hand on the phone receiver before she picked it up.

  “Sir, please.”

  “I’m sorry. There was another man here, wasn’t there? Salt-and-pepper hair. Claimed to be a cop?”

  She didn’t answer, but her eyes gave away the affirmative.

  “Are they together now? Which room?”

  “I’m going to have to call the police.”

  “No,” Donne said. “You’re not.”

  He removed his hand from the phone and dropped it into his pocket. The handle of the pistol was ridged and he could feel the bumps on his fingertips. He pulled the weapon an inch, so it cleared the top of his pocket.

  “Oh my god. Please leave,” the receptionist said. “Now. I’m going to call the cops.”

  “Where are they?” Donne shouted. The receptionist flinched.

  “They’re not here!” she screamed. “They’re not here. I don’t know where they are. The other man came and went this morning.”

  The receptionist snatched the phone receiver and pressed three buttons. Donne didn’t need to see to know which ones. His heart was racing, and he heard buzzing. Taking a step, he knocked over the cup of coffee. As it splashed against the ground, some of the liquid singed his ankles.