Deviation Read online

  Frank bent over, his hands on his knees as he took several deep breaths. “I hope not to do this again for quite some time.”

  Dianne put a hand on his back. “Me too. Thank you so much for helping me.”

  “You don't need to thank me. I'm glad to help.”

  She looked around the area, still worried someone was going to wander by. “You rest a minute. I'll cover him up.”

  Frank nodded, still catching his breath. He watched as she threw the bags of trash back into the dumpster, effectively hiding the rolled-up carpet. She tore open the final bag and spilled assorted garbage all over the top, discouraging anyone from digging around inside. Then she wiped her hands on her shirt and rejoined Frank.

  “Shall we go back up?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I'll require some more of that beer.”

  She smiled. “That sounds good. Too bad you didn't bring any weed from the car.”

  “Oh, but I did.” He straightened up, patting his pants pocket. “A little something for later.”

  Her smile widened. “Are you going to get me stoned again?”

  “Absolutely. But we have a bit more work to do first, I'm afraid.”

  “More?”

  “Just the walls. We can't leave them the way they are. It looks like a slaughterhouse.”

  Dianne nodded. “Good point. I've got some bleach and some rags up there.”

  “Lead the way. Soon this will all be a memory.”

  She led him back around to the front porch. She almost didn't want to admit it, but she was having a lot of fun. Frank made the few boyfriends she'd had seem banal and irrelevant.

  * * *

  Back in the apartment, Dianne got them each a fresh beer. It would have been nice to sit down and rest for a little while, but the furniture was all ruined.

  Frank was searching the room and happened to spot the little paring knife she'd used to kill Cliff. It was partially hidden beneath the radiator. He bent over and picked it up. “Ah, we can't forget this.”

  The sight of it brought back a flood of memories from the previous night, memories even the corpse and bloody walls hadn't triggered. She remembered Cliff knocking it from her hands and throwing her into the wall. She clenched her teeth momentarily, feeling a savage satisfaction that he was dead; that she'd killed him. It was wrong, she knew, but there was no denying she felt it. “No,” she agreed. “It did serve me well, though.”

  “Good.” Frank walked over and deposited it into the trash can near the kitchen doorway. “We'll still have to dispose of it, I'm afraid.”

  “I'm glad you found it. I forgot all about it.”

  They each took a drink of High Life, contemplating the night before them. Dianne wasn't sure if they were going to spend the night in her apartment and didn't want to ask. At least not yet.

  “I suppose I'll get the bleach solution made up,” she suggested.

  “It would feel a lot saner in here with the blood removed from the walls,” Frank agreed.

  She retreated into the kitchen and busied herself for a few moments preparing a bucket of bleach and water and collecting a handful of rags from under the sink. When she came back out to the living room, she found Frank sliding one of the windows down. It was the one he'd pushed the corpse out of. She set the bucket down on the little table near where the couch had been and took a long drink from her can.

  “That looks good,” Frank said. He held up his empty can and shook it. “You mind if I help myself to another?”

  “Please do. There's plenty in the fridge.”

  He stepped past her, dropping his can into the trash. “I'll get you another one as well. This is thirsty work.”

  They spent the next fifteen minutes scrubbing the blood off the walls and tables and lamps and anywhere else they found it splattered. It was impossible to get it all; some of it was dried into tiny cracks and crevices, or stained into fabric. They did the best they could, drinking steadily as they worked, and before long the room looked almost normal. The huge square missing from the carpet was going to draw significant attention, but the building manager wasn't likely to see it until long after Cliff's body was in the landfill. Besides, his name wasn't on the lease. He'd been staying there against Dianne's will, and the manager would have no reason to associate the ruined carpet with his disappearance.

  Frank threw his rag into the bucket and took another drink. The air in the room now held a strong odor of bleach. “I think we've done all we need to do,” he said. “We'll carry out the trash when we leave, and besides needing a new carpet, the landlord shouldn't have much to be concerned with.”

  “He can take it out of my security deposit,” Dianne remarked. “I won't get it back anyway, because I'm going to disappear without a trace.”

  Frank smiled. “Indeed you are.”

  They regarded each other in silence for a moment. Dianne had a small buzz from the beer and felt like drinking some more.

  “Shall I get us a couple more beers?” she asked.

  “Please. And dump out this water.” He reached a hand into his pocket. “I'll roll us up a little something to celebrate a job well done.”

  Dianne grinned. “That would be fantastic.”

  14. Departure

  When Dianne woke up the following morning, she was in her own bed. She didn't have much of a hangover; if she remembered correctly, she'd only had four beers. After that she'd shared a joint with Father Frank. They'd gotten powerfully stoned and discussed their travel plans, or lack of them, before turning in for the night. When they did turn in, they did so together.

  She rolled over in the bed, Frank's arm draped over her naked midsection. He was still asleep, snoring quietly, his face half buried in a pillow. She stared at him for a moment, trying to decide how she felt about this new development.

  Previous to this, Dianne had only been in three relationships. None of them had been good. One of them, during college, had been relatively pleasant, but even that had felt forced and filled with a sense of impending failure. She'd never really bonded with anyone on a meaningful level. She'd come to the conclusion, during her time with Cliff, that she never would. She'd felt destined to either be alone or forced to endure an unhealthy relationship with someone she could barely tolerate.

  With Frank it was different. Frank was insane, she knew. In a sense it scared her, but at the same time she knew that was also what excited her about him. She knew he'd never be boring the way she found other men boring; she didn't think Frank was capable of being boring. His psychopathy, no matter how intense, was refreshing to her, and the passion of his delusional aspirations inspired her to really want to live. For someone who'd spent most of her life wishing she were dead, this was a very welcome change.

  She thought she'd like to stick with Frank for as long as she could and see where it led her. She had no idea how long that might be, or where she might end up, and at the moment she didn't care. For at least the next little while she was going to enjoy life for a change.

  She felt it was long overdue.

  Frank stopped snoring and woke up rapidly, one eye opening and peering over at her. He seemed a little bit surprised to see her there.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning yourself.”

  He noticed his arm was across her abdomen. He started to remove it and then stopped, leaving it where it was. “How are you?”

  “I'm fine. Yourself?”

  “I can't complain. Nice bed you've got here.”

  She smiled. “I'm glad you like it.”

  “I do.”

  “I could tell. Last night was... very interesting.”

  Frank studied her face for a moment. “I hope I didn't cause you to do..
. anything you might regret.”

  Dianne slid her hand under the sheet and wrapped her fingers around him. “Don't worry, Father. You didn't.”

  “That's good to hear.”

  She slid closer to him. “Do you think we could do it all again?”

  “I think we could do anything, Dianne. Anything at all.”

  * * *

  When they eventually got up, Frank took a shower while Dianne scavenged around in the kitchen, preparing breakfast in an attempt to use up as much food as she could. It turned out to be a small feast consisting of scrambled eggs, frozen waffles, canned fruit salad, toast, juice and coffee. They ate slowly, taking their time, and then Dianne took a long shower and got dressed into clean clothes. She offered to run Frank's things through the washing machine in the basement but he declined, saying he wanted to get going. He had more clothes in his suitcase, and he'd have time to wash them later.

  Before they left the apartment, Dianne opened up four cans of tuna from the cabinet and made half a dozen sandwiches to bring along. As she was doing this, one of the paring knives in the drawer caught her eye. She took it out and studied it for a moment, thinking that it might come in handy at some point. It certainly couldn't hurt to bring it along. She brought it to her purse in the living room and slipped it carefully inside. Then she packed another bag, taking everything she thought she wanted to hang onto. There would be no coming back, she knew.

  They carried out the garbage and their new bags, leaving behind the ruined furniture and apartment keys and a brief note to the manager explaining that she'd had to leave in a hurry. She apologized for the condition of the apartment, relaying most of the blame on a mishap with a box of red wine and was careful to leave no hint of where she was going or how to contact her. It was easy to do, as she had no idea herself where she was going.

  When they got in her car and she had the engine running, she wasn't even sure how to begin.

  “How about south on 94?” she asked. “Just to start things off.”

  “That would be fine,” Frank said. “But I was thinking we might want to stop first at a liquor store. It would be nice to have some supplies.”

  “I should have brought down the beer from my apartment. I still have at least a 12-pack up there.”

  “Oh, we'll need more than that. Just drive to your favorite liquor store and we'll treat ourselves to a full variety of refreshments.”

  Dianne put the car in drive. “Alright.” She glanced at the dashboard clock, noticing it was almost noon. She was supposed to be at work. She felt a degenerate little thrill at the idea of never going back.

  “Everything okay?” Frank asked.

  “Fine. I guess I won't bother calling in again today.”

  “That's entirely up to you.”

  She smiled, feeling herself slipping over a psychological edge. “Forget it. I'm done with that life.” She stepped on the gas and pulled out of her parking spot, making a quick U-turn and heading towards Jerry's Liquors.

  * * *

  There were no shopping carts at the liquor store, but if there had been they would have used one. Instead, Frank carried two 30-packs of Pabst up to the counter and set them on the floor. The clerk, a man in his early 20's with a goatee and round eyeglasses, was standing there watching.

  “All set?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” Frank replied. “I'm just getting started.”

  The clerk nodded. “Okay. Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

  “I most certainly will.”

  Frank stepped away and joined Dianne, who was admiring the selection of rum. There was a surprisingly large variety, much more than the liquor stores he normally frequented.

  “Have a taste for spirits?” Frank asked.

  She smiled and took his hand. “I'd kind of like to try some fancy rum. I've been meaning to pick some up for quite a while now.”

  “Get something good. I want you to really be happy for a change.”

  The comment filled her with unexpected gratification and she pulled Frank closer and kissed him. No one had ever cared the least bit about her happiness before. “Thank you, Frank.”

  “I should be thanking you, for accompanying me.” He turned back to the selection of rum. “What do you say you pick yourself out a bottle of the best?”

  She studied the bottles some more. “I can't seem to decide. What about this one?” She pointed out a bottle of Bacardi Silver.

  “That's fine, I'm sure.” His eyes traveled down the shelf, taking in the prices. “But what about this?” He bent over and lifted a bottle of Oronoco Fazenda Reserva. The price was more than double. “Imported from Brazil. Perhaps you deserve something a little more exotic than Bacardi.”

  She put the Bacardi back on the shelf. “You think so?”

  “Definitely.”

  Taking the bottle from his hand, she studied it for a moment. “Okay. You talked me into it.”

  They moved over to the bourbon selection next and Frank took a bottle of Wild Turkey in each hand. Dianne chose a bottle of Jim Beam Black Label, and they carried their spirits up to the counter where the clerk was just finishing up with an elderly man who'd stopped in for a pint of vodka and cigarettes. They set their bottles on the counter and began to step away.

  “All set?” the clerk asked again.

  Frank turned and acknowledged him. “No. We'll let you know when we're ready.”

  He nodded and began straightening the Slim Jim display.

  They spent another ten minutes carrying supplies up to the counter, and when they were finally ready they had four 30-packs and one 12-pack of beer, two bottles of wine, five bottles of bourbon, one of rum and one of gin. Frank used his credit card to pay for it all, not wanting to waste their cash. They had to make two trips to the car to carry it all, and when Dianne finally pulled away she was anxious for the day to move along so she could try her new rum.

  “It will give you something to look forward to,” Frank said.

  “True.” She turned south onto Oakland Avenue and began heading toward the freeway. “I guess it's a good idea to wait. You know, since I'm driving and all.”

  “Probably,” Frank agreed. He turned in his seat and tore open a cold 30-pack of Pabst, which he'd stashed on the back seat. He removed two cans and handed one to Dianne. “We'll stick to beer for now.”

  She laughed, accepting the can. “Really? While I'm driving?”

  Frank opened his beer and took a long drink. “The bible says to have a good time all the time. I believe we owe it to ourselves to at least try.”

  “The bible really says that?”

  “I'm guessing it might. There's a lot in there I haven't read.”

  “Well, then. That's good enough for me.” She opened her beer and gulped from the can. Then she set it in the cup holder between the front seats, which had never before held a can of beer. “It seems right, somehow.”

  “It is right. In this new world of ours, we get to make our own rules.”

  The concept was entirely foreign to her. She knew she could get used to it, however, and she wondered briefly why it had never occurred to her before now to live on her own terms. Perhaps Frank had been right about the brainwashing epidemic. She'd have to be more careful in the future not to allow others to do her thinking for her.

  “Here's the entrance to 94,” she said. “Are you sure you're ready to leave?”

  Frank settled back in his seat and took another drink of beer. “I'm sure.”

  15. On The Road

  The odometer in Dianne's Escort turned over to 100,000 miles just as she was making the transition from Interstate 94 to Interstate 80 outside Tinley Park, Illinois. She took it as a sign that she'd
made the right choice in her decision to leave the city. She'd been driving for about two hours and was just beginning to feel the slightest bit restless behind the wheel.

  They pulled in for gas and used the restrooms at the first rest stop they came across. Frank also took the opportunity to get rid of the empty beer cans and dig the cocaine out from his luggage.

  As they pulled back out into traffic, Dianne watched him studying the powder through the bag.

  “I sure hope I don't get pulled over,” she said. “They'd have a field day going through your things.”

  “It's unlikely,” Frank answered. He opened the bag and took a small pinch of coke between his thumb and index finger. “Would you like to try a little?”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “Maybe later,” he suggested. “There's quite a bit here. Enough to last us both for a good long time.” He raised his hand to his nose and snorted the cocaine from between his fingers.

  Dianne was watching from the corner of her eye. “Especially if I don't use any.”

  “There'd be no fun in that.” He held up the baggie. “You sure you don't want to try some?”

  “I'm sure. Like I said, I've tried it before. It just makes me feel shaky, like I've had way too much coffee.”

  “Fair enough.” He twisted the end of the bag and slipped a rubber band around it. “Maybe you're in the mood for something more natural?”

  Dianne laughed. “What's the longest you've ever gone without any drugs at all?”

  Frank thought about it. “Including alcohol?”

  “Either way.”