Not Even Past. Dave White
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She put her hands on the arms of his chair and leaned in close. Her hair smelled like apple shampoo.
“You said you were going to get up early and work.”
“When did I say that?”
“When don’t you say that?”
She leaned in closer and her lips parted slightly. “You work too hard.”
“If I don’t, I won’t be finished with this.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Before their lips could meet, Donne flashed on to Jeanne. Tied up in that chair. Her eyes wide. Screaming behind duct tape.
He tilted his head out of the way of Kate and stood up. She stepped back and brushed hair in front of her face, as if she was trying to hide it.
“What is wrong with you?” Her voice was the edge of glass.
“I told you, I have to study.”
She shook her head. “That’s not it.”
He stood up, feeling ice form in his chest. Someone must have turned the thermostat down when Donne wasn’t looking.
Jeanne—no, Kate—had her arms folded in front of her. Donne stepped in close to her, put his hands on her elbows. Squeezed gently.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m stressed. There’s a lot to be done. Finals. The wedding. We have a lot to do. You surprised me.”
“But you …” Kate shook her head. “You’ve been doing this a lot lately.”
Donne closed his eyes and took in a long breath. He kissed her on the cheek. “I don’t mean to.”
He wanted to explain, tell her about Jeanne. Tell her about the video. Tell her about the blood on his hands. All the blood. He should have done that a year ago. But it never felt like the right time. It still didn’t.
“Then why do you do it?”
“Did you take today off?” he asked.
“I have a meeting later this afternoon. Last-minute preparation for court. Took the morning off, thought we could stuff some envelopes and then get lunch.”
That sounded good. It sounded like exactly what he needed. But the walls felt like they were closing in on him. His mouth was dry and his throat was tight. He needed to go do something, anything, to try to find out what that video was about.
“I really need to study. Get this over with. What time is your meeting over?”
Kate pursed her lips. “I’m done at four.”
“In that case, I’ll be done at four,” he said. “I’ll pick you up and we can go to Silvio’s and get a real meal. Then I’m good for some beer and all the envelope stuffing you want to do.”
The glint returned to her eyes. She didn’t smile. Didn’t unfold her arms.
“Okay.”
Donne dropped his hands to his sides. “I really need to study. Why don’t you stay here? I’ll go down to the library and get some work done. Hard to procrastinate there.”
“If you end up at the Olde Towne—”
Donne laughed. “That’s the last place I’ll be.”
“I was just going to say ‘call me.’”
They didn’t say anything for a moment. The silence hung in the air like gnats on a summer night. They stared at each other, Donne waiting for Kate to move first. Either toward the couch or the door.
She didn’t.
He gave in. After kissing her on the cheek again, he went toward the door. Pulled it open and stepped out into the hall. The door swung shut behind him. The hall smelled of wet pizza boxes. He took two steps but stopped when Kate opened his door again.
“Jackson,” she said.
He turned and waited. The ice in his chest got colder.
“You forgot your books.”
The knot in his stomach eased, and he went back to gather his things. There wasn’t much. Two textbooks, a binder, and a pen. He shoved them into his bag, zipped it closed, and headed back toward the door.
“I love you,” he heard Kate say.
He pulled the door shut and kept going.
DONNE SAT in the Olde Towne Tavern staring at his phone. Seemed to be what everyone else was doing as well. The days of pub arguments that went unsettled were long gone. Pub arguments turned into quick Google searches and Wikipedia answers.
That wasn’t Donne’s concern at the moment. No, he’d clicked on the link in the email and opened up Safari on his iPhone trying to get another glimpse of Jeanne. Or whoever it was in the video.
Couldn’t be Jeanne. She was dead. Car crash. Dead.
Each time Donne tried clicking on the link, the browser would open and just show a blank white page. Nothing would load. The activity bar at the top of the screen didn’t appear, so he knew nothing else would load on the page. He shook the phone, as if that would help. When it didn’t, he slapped the phone on to the bar. And then cursed himself for almost breaking it. He couldn’t afford another one.
Artie appeared across the bar, eyed the phone, then eyed Donne.
“Cutting class?” he asked.
Donne shook his head. “Jameson. And a Kane Head High.”
Artie exhaled and leaned over for the glasses.
“Sorry for making you do your job,” Donne said.
Artie poured the shot. “I was wondering when this Jackson would show up again. Been a while.”
Donne took the shot in a quick gulp. Felt the slow burn up his throat. His chest and stomach warmed. He welcomed the feeling.
“Exams are coming up,” he said.
Artie put the IPA on a coaster. “That’s why this place is empty.” He made a show of looking around. “Well, that, and the fact that it’s not even noon yet.”
“I should be studying.” Sweat slid down the side of the pint glass.
“Instead you’re doing shots.”
“One shot.”
Artie shrugged. “Don’t want to talk about it?”
Donne picked up the beer and drank. The taste of whiskey washed from his mouth, replaced by bitter hops. The nerve endings that been jangling for the past hour settled into a rhythmic throb.
Artie turned and went to the other end of the bar. Donne pressed the home button on his phone and stared at the picture Kate on his lock screen. He took another sip of beer. Kate looked over her shoulder, a wisp of hair cutting across her brow. The corner of her lip was curled up in a smile. Behind her was the sunset over Garret Mountain.
Jeanne, meanwhile, was tied to a chair.
Thirty seconds of footage, something that could have been faked by anyone.
He looked at his lock screen again. He grabbed his beer and froze.
“You shouldn’t drink that,” Kate had said the night they first met, last year.
Donne was sitting in nearly the exact same spot he was right now and had just finished his first winter exams. Artie was hosting a benefit for State Senator Henry Stern, who’d worked with Jeanne years earlier.
“Why not?” he asked.
Kate