Not Even Past

by Dave White

  Martin watched the man wade deeper into the ocean and dive under a breaking wave. He waited for the guy to reappear, brush the water out of his face, and do it again. He counted off the seconds. Counted to thirty, and still saw no one. A sharp edge of the rock inside him dug into his guts. He grunted. No one emerged from the water.

  And it was too soon for the lifeguards to be on duty. Martin sat forward. A few feet left of where he was staring, the man popped out again. Then dove under one more time. Martin sat down on the gravel and watched him do his laps. An hour passed, and more people appeared on the beach, the sand polka-dotted by different umbrella shades.

  He looked back toward the campus. People were starting to mill around, closer to the stage. A few people had taken their seats in the audience. They were typing on computers, probably press.

  Martin went about the process of checking his rifle. Each part was oiled, clean, and ready to go. He checked the baseball bag to make sure he brought everything, checking each item off a mental checklist.

  Everything was there. The plan only relied on one more thing. Jackson Donne had to put all the pieces together. He probably would. He always seemed to. And Jeanne was great on the phone the night before, putting just the right amount of panic and fear into her voice.

  In his wildest dreams, this wasn’t the path he expected his life to take. The moment he found Jeanne and shot Donne was supposed to be the beginning of a happy ending. Now he was left with nothing. He smiled, though. Jeanne and William would be free to start over.

  And Bill Martin would be the catalyst.

  JEANNE’S CALL had kicked sleep out the door. He spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, and the morning came with something resembling a hangover.

  The pain sat right behind Donne’s eyes, squeezing them against their sockets. His stomach rumbled, and phlegm was caught at the back of his throat. The Advil hadn’t kicked in yet, though the Gatorade cooled his esophagus. The tie around his neck wasn’t helping much.

  At the entrance to the parking lot, Donne showed a guard the pass Stern had given him. The rest of the campus was open, but anyone related to the press conference for the merger had been directed to one lot. Cops would patrol the other lots, but not until closer to start time. Martin was here already. He had to be, because he wasn’t stupid. He’d beat the system.

  The hot summer sun didn’t help with his hangover sensation, the rays digging deep into the black fabric of his suit. The smell of the sea, however, was refreshing, and he took in as much of it as he could while he walked. Some press members were trying to make their way through the light security, which consisted of having their laptop bags checked. Donne recognized a few of the sportswriters. He wondered how the merger would affect the columnist who wrote a yearly piece about why UNJ should have a football team. Privatization would make that jump extremely unlikely. The Twitter snark would be extremely high today, especially if the conference went off without a hitch.

  Donne would make sure that happened.

  He showed his pass at security and made his way over to the stage. The metal creaked a bit against the breeze, and the first step sagged under his step. Luca spotted him and crossed the stage toward him. He wore a black suit as well.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Luca asked.

  Donne nodded at the military guys roaming the perimeter of the setup. “The state troopers, they usually do this.”

  Luca worked his jaw. “You can’t be here.”

  “I know why you’re here. And what the senator’s plan is.”

  Luca shrugged. “Too late now.”

  Donne gave him a smile. He looked out at the crowd filing in. The laptop carriers were the press. The others were faculty from both Ben Franklin and UNJ. They were the only people invited. The students were excluded.

  “Students protesting today?” he asked.

  “Go home, Jackson.” Luca cracked his knuckles.

  “Hope none of the photographers were snapping pics just then.”

  Luca’s hands dropped to his side.

  “Nervous?” Luca nodded toward Donne’s waist.

  Donne was suddenly aware he’d been tapping his right pocket repeatedly. He jammed his hands in his pockets, bunching the bottom of his suit jacket against his wrist.

  “It’s the suit,” Donne said. “Have you seen anything suspicious?” He couldn’t remember.

  “That’s not my job. Or yours. Go home.”

  “Half the parking lots on campus are wide open,” Donne said. “The security line is more lax than at a football game. Loose ends?”

  “I meant you and your girl, if you don’t get the hell out of here.”

  “Don’t you touch her.”

  “Try and stop me.”

  Donne looked out over the crowd toward the rest of the campus. The buildings blocked the view of the beach. No one wandered the quads, and only a few people loitered around the student union. To his right, a few workers were changing the last remaining flags on the streetlights. No longer did they only say UNJ. They read BEN FRANKLIN–NEW JERSEY UNIVERSITY. Donne didn’t know what they’d change the mascot to.

  “Come on,” Luca said. “Get moving. The boss is going to be here soon, and we’re gonna get started. You know the private sector, always working.”

  Donne nodded and headed down the metal steps. He could feel Luca staring at his back.

  DONNE MADE his way through the press corps, noting that all the seats were filled now. People were just waiting for Henry Stern to show up. Rumors circulated that the governor would be there too, but Donne knew he wouldn’t be. This was Stern’s baby, and he’d negotiated long and hard to keep the state boss out of it. The governor got to handle the beach rebuilding after Sandy as the payoff.

  As he got to the back of the audience, he started to hear the clicking of cameras. He turned to see Stern getting out of a black SUV. Two built guys he didn’t recognize flanked him and escorted him to the stage. Not using state troopers—a big show of how good private firms were. If Stern’s military buddies were doing security, Martin was going to have a hell of a gauntlet to pass through to escape.

  If he was even here.

  Donne watched Stern climb to the stage and look out over the audience. The presidents of both universities—soon to be renamed chancellors of their respective campuses—followed. They clapped at the press corps and faculty members. A few people returned the applause, but it seemed as if no one was sure what was appropriate. Stern looked out over the crowd and caught Donne’s eye. He gave Donne a thumbs-up. Donne didn’t return it. He instead headed out on to campus.

  He started at the student union, checking for errant backpacks or suspicious packages. Bombs weren’t Martin’s style. Donne wasn’t even sure if Martin had the patience to make one. Not with the way his hands had been shaking the last few times they crossed paths. But Donne did a sweep anyway, finding nothing but two sophomores sipping coffee and chatting about summer classes and if—after the merger was official—they’d have to take extra classes.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if we all could take our seats. We’re going to get started in just a few minutes.”

  The speakers crackled and boomed as the press liaison spoke. The entire press conference would be heard throughout the campus. Donne expected it was being simulcast on the Ben Franklin campus as well.

  He turned toward the quad and continued his sweep.

  BILL MARTIN opened his eyes when the press was asked to take their seats. He pushed himself up off the gravel and walked over to the edge of the building. The stage was full now, but Martin couldn’t make out who was who. There were just a bunch of guys in suits sitting behind a podium.

  The breeze had picked up a bit and was going to make the shot a bit trickier. Not impossible, but not the easiest he’d ever done. Once, when hunting, he’d taken a galloping deer out at three hundred fifty yards in a rainstorm. The deer collapsed midstep, and it took ten minutes for Martin to track down the body. But the venison
meat on that kill was one of the sweetest he’d tasted.

  He hoped Jeanne appreciated today just as much.

  Scanning the crowd, Martin noted everyone’s focus on the stage. Even passersby had stopped to listen. The campus appeared empty, except for scattered people near the student coffee shop and throngs of onlookers near the stage.

  Except for one guy in a suit strolling toward the quad. Martin went back to his baseball bag and took out his gloves, scope, and a clip of bullets. After putting on the gloves, he took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the entire rifle down, focusing on the trigger, trigger guard, and stock. Then he slapped the clip into the gun, and carried it back to the edge of the roof. Before attaching the scope he took a second to look through it. Worked like a charm.

  He made out Henry Stern sitting between two old, balding men. They all had BF-UNJ pins on their lapels. The pin was obnoxious, and Martin was shocked they hadn’t picked a sleeker logo yet. He swept his vision back to the lone man walking in his direction.

  Jackson Donne.

  Martin attached the scope to the gun. He trained it on Donne as he walked. The kid didn’t even flinch. No fucking clue.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, on this historic day, allow me to introduce you to the chancellor of the University of New Jersey campus, Hans Clark.”

  Martin adjusted his aim back toward the stage. He took account of the breeze and aimed about three inches above Stern’s head. Gravity and physics would take care of the rest.

  But he couldn’t shoot yet. That wasn’t the plan. It had to be midspeech in front of everyone. He was going to make sure Jeanne knew what he’d done for her. That she’d see it on the news that night, where ever she was.

  At the same time, he hoped William would be asleep. That the boy would never see this footage. Or at least never know who’d taken the shot.

  “AS HAS already been said, this is an historic day for our institutions. Taking the University of New Jersey and merging it with Ben Franklin College will help turn our schools into a private university on par with Princeton. It will allow our enrollment to be more selective and our faculty to focus on their strengths.”

  Donne shook his head at the spin. This was all about saving the state money and cutting taxes. He wondered how many meetings the higher-ups at the university had to have to figure out a good way to spin this for academics.

  And he wondered if they knew exactly what was going to happen to some of their donation money. Where Luca and Stern were getting it, and what they were doing with it.

  But, if he just kept his mouth shut, Donne would have a full bank account for a long time. As the thought passed through his mind, a spider crawled across the inside of his chest.

  As the chancellor prattled on, Donne walked over to the freshman dorm and tried the door. It was locked. He didn’t have a passkey to get in. Probably something he should have asked Luca for. If he were going to do a true inspection, he would have to check all the buildings. And he should have been here well before anyone else had arrived.

  The headache behind his eyes, finally starting to fade, reminded him why he was late.

  Donne looked across the quad at the Robert F. Jenkins building. He scanned the outside first floor and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He checked each window, looking for a misplaced blind or twisted curtain.

  Nothing.

  His eyes ran up the sidewall toward the ceiling, looking for movement. Something shimmered in front of him.

  Donne blinked.

  More movement.

  Donne broke out in a sprint for the door.

  AS DONNE bounded up the steps, he could hear the announcement that Henry Stern would speak next. The voice was muffled through the thick walls, but he could still make out the words. There wasn’t much time.

  He grabbed the handrail with his left arm and tried to pull himself with his momentum, but his shoulder gave way. Donne fell forward and slammed his chin into the metal step. His front teeth dug into his tongue, and Donne tasted blood. After getting up, he wiped his mouth and turned his wrist red. Donne spat blood on to the floor and continued.

  The door to the roof wasn’t locked, surprisingly. It wasn’t even barricaded. When Donne pushed the handle in, the door swung open into the sunlight. He could hear crashing waves and the sound of Stern’s speech as clear as glass. The sun made him squint as he canvassed the roof and found a crouching Bill Martin looking over the edge.

  And into the scope of a rifle.

  “Bill!” Donne shouted the word. Speaking made his tongue burn.

  Martin pulled back from the edge of the roof and looked toward Donne.

  “You’re just in time, kid,” he said. Then he turned back to the gun.

  “Don’t do this, Bill.” Donne strode across the roof, stopping a yard from Martin. Donne didn’t have many options. If he tried to grab or tackle his former partner, there was a good chance they’d both topple off the roof. Plus, with his shoulder weakened, Donne didn’t expect to win any fights.

  Not even with an old guy.

  Talking was his only way out of this. Maybe, just once, he could get Bill Martin to listen to him. To trust him.

  “You pull that trigger, Bill,” Donne said, “and you’re going to destroy your life.”

  Martin’s shoulders flinched. “Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.”

  Henry Stern was talking about the glories of both universities. His speech was highlighting the science departments of both schools and the developments they’d made in neuroscience. Once they combined their forces, they could be one of the top private research units in the country.

  “You think they won’t track this back to you?”

  “I have that covered,” Martin said. His back went up slowly as he took a long breath. Then back down again.

  Donne took a step forward. Bill Martin pulled the trigger. There was a single pop. Martin stood up, turned, and tossed the rifle at Donne. Instinct took over and Donne caught it. An instant later, the screams of the crowd carried to them.

  “Got him,” Martin said, looking over the edge of the roof.

  Donne looked at the rifle in his own hands. Then dropped it. He took two steps back.

  Martin walked past him over to a baseball equipment bag. For the first time, Donne noticed the gloves on Martin’s hands. He dashed over to the edge of the roof to look at the crowd. The members of the press had pushed forward toward the stage and were all shouting. On the platform, Donne could make out Stern’s legs as two men in suits hovered over him. One of the chancellors had slumped over in his seat.

  There were two other men in suits running toward the building. One of them was Luca. The bodyguard looked up toward him and yelled something. It wasn’t help. It wasn’t a one-syllable word.

  Donne whirled toward Martin, who now held a pistol. It wasn’t pointed at Donne yet.

  “Why did you do this, Bill?”

  “You know why. For her.” Martin shrugged. “For me too.”

  Donne shook his head, while still keeping an eye on the pistol. It looked familiar. “She didn’t want this.”

  Martin laughed. “Of course she did. Now she’s truly free.”

  “They’re going to track this back to you, Bill. You don’t know these people. They’re going to track it back to Jeanne too. You screwed up.”

  Martin shook his head. “Nah. I tried to stop you.”

  Donne felt the breeze at his back. The words Martin said didn’t register with him. Something wasn’t right. Maybe he misspoke.

  “First shot. Even with my hands shaking.” Martin laughed. “I never was able to get true revenge on you, Jackson. Never really torture you the way I wanted.”

  “You shot me. You took Jeanne from me.”

  Now there were sirens in the air. More than one. Over Martin’s shoulder toward the beach, Donne could see cop cars and an ambulance careening toward the campus.

  “And you still survived. You didn’t die. You didn’t crumble. You put your life toget
her. Meanwhile, I have nothing. I’m sick. Jeanne’s gone. Eileen. And I don’t have a job.” Martin lifted the gun from his side. “I have nothing left.”

  “Bill …” Donne put his hands in the air. He heard the door to the building open and slam shut.

  “This is yours,” Martin said, holding the gun out. “You left it at the hotel room.”

  Donne’s stomach did a swan dive to his ankles. His throat closed.

  “I came up here to try to stop you. I’m a cop. That’s what I do.” Martin turned the gun. “But you were too quick. You shot me.”

  “Bill, don’t.” Donne fumbled for words. “Ballistics. Evidence.”

  “Yeah, because cops have always loved you. I’m sure they’re going to work real hard.”

  “Don’t—”

  “If you ever see her again,” Martin said. The gun was aimed at his own chest. His thumb was through the trigger guard. “Tell her I always loved her.”

  The gunshot made Donne flinch. Martin fell backward as a red splotch formed at his chest. A cloud of dust arose as his body hit the ground. The gun skittered away.

  Donne rushed to his side and knelt. Martin’s breaths came in wet gasps. Donne touched his chest and felt the wet warmth run over his hand. Martin’s eyes were wide and unfocused. He seemed to be looking at the sky.

  Donne said Martin’s name. Martin coughed and spat blood from his mouth. One more hard gasp.

  Then nothing. His eyes glazed over, and his lungs stopped working.

  Donne checked for a pulse, but it was too late. He fell back on his ass and rested his hands on his knees. He looked at the specks of blood on his wrist and wondered how much of it was from his mouth and how much of it was Martin’s.

  He could hear shouting in the corridor. Luca was close.

  Then one word popped into Donne’s head.

  Run!

  DONNE BOLTED toward the door, only to be met by Luca and two other men. Air came in heaves and gasps, his chest tightening as he watched Luca survey the scene. The two men walked over to Martin. One knelt and put his ear next to the body’s nose and mouth. Seconds later, he shook his head.