Deviation Page 12

  “Not long. Sobriety just doesn't feel right to me.” He stashed the coke in the glove compartment and pulled the smaller bag of weed from his pocket. “It makes me feel hollow somehow. Like my soul has died.”

  “Do you believe you have a soul?”

  “Not necessarily. It's just the way I feel when I'm completely sober. I feel terrible. I would imagine it's some sort of medical issue. Depression, perhaps. Or schizophrenia. Maybe both.” He found his rolling papers and began assembling a joint.

  “There are pills you can take for that,” Dianne suggested.

  “Yes, I know. Man-made pills that don't really work and cause horrifying side effects.”

  “Are all your drugs really any better?”

  “They're a bit more natural, perhaps.”

  She looked at him skeptically. “Meth?”

  “I don't want to live forever, Dianne.” He licked the edge of the rolling paper and sealed it up. “That would be the ultimate curse.”

  “I suppose.”

  Frank put away his baggie and lit the joint. He took a hit and offered it to Dianne. “This is as natural as you can get.”

  She smiled and accepted it. “I've got nothing against herbs,” she admitted.

  They passed it back and forth until they were both very stoned, and then Frank pinched the end of the cigarette between his fingers and set it in the ashtray for later. He also rolled his window down some more to allow the smoke to disperse.

  “Any idea where we should go yet?” Dianne asked. She slowed down and switched over to the right lane; her motor skills had become noticeably impaired.

  “Any place you'd like. But I think we ought to travel for at least a day or two. Put some distance between us and Wisconsin.”

  She nodded. There was an exit up ahead for Joliet, Illinois. A town she'd never see, or want to see. There were thousands of them, all over the country. It would be easy to get lost within the midst of them all. “I'll just keep driving for awhile.”

  “Let me know if you get tired of it.”

  “Give me another hour or two. Maybe when we get through Illinois you could take the wheel.”

  “Alright.”

  “What state is west of here, anyway? I'm not even sure.”

  “I believe that would be Iowa.”

  “Okay. You can take over when we reach Iowa.”

  “I'll be ready,” he promised.

  “Would you like a tuna sandwich? I brought --”

  Suddenly there was an odd chirping sound within the car. Dianne glanced around, fearfully, thinking it was the car itself undergoing some type of electrical mishap. Then Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. She relaxed. Just as she was about to laugh at herself, the look on Frank's face as he glanced at his phone stopped her.

  “What's wrong?”

  He turned to her as the phone rang again. “This can't be good.”

  She stared back. “Who is it?”

  “It's Pastor McKenzie.”

  * * *

  Despite never having met the man, Dianne still grew nervous at the mention of his name. “Are you going to answer it?”

  The phone rang a third time. “I suppose I ought to. If I don't, I'll always wonder.” He pressed the call button and held the phone to his face just as scattered raindrops began to strike the windshield. He noticed the sky had grown cloudy and that the sun was no longer visible; an unsettling coincidence. “Hello.”

  “Frank,” said the familiar voice over the phone. He felt a chill. “Where the hell are you?”

  “I could ask you the same question, Pastor.”

  “I'm here, at St. Paul's,” McKenzie replied. There was a trace of anger in his voice, but then there usually was. “You and Stevens both seem to be missing.”

  “As were you, Pastor. We didn't know what had become of you.”

  “Never mind that. Where are you? Where is Stevens?”

  The rain began to fall harder, and Dianne switched on the windshield wipers. Frank watched them go back and forth, smearing water over the dirty glass.

  “I'm taking a little vacation.”

  “Now? I need you back here, Frank.”

  “I'm afraid that's impossible right now.”

  “It's not impossible. I need you to get back here right away. There are... things I need to discuss with you.”

  “We can discuss them over the phone.”

  “We can't! I need you here.”

  “I've left the state, Pastor. I don't know when I'll be coming back.”

  There was a disgusted sigh over the phone. He could imagine McKenzie pacing back and forth in his room, his free hand clenched into a fist. “You'll be coming back now. This is important.”

  “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

  Silence. Then McKenzie laughed quietly. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Is it an unreasonable assumption?”

  “What's this corpse doing in the basement, Frank? Is this your doing?”

  “I'm not sure what you're talking about.”

  “Bullshit. Where is Stevens? Is he with you?”

  Frank didn't feel he owed Stevens any favors, but he certainly wasn't going to hand him over just like that. “He's not with me. He told me he was leaving.”

  “Did he mention where?”

  “No.”

  “I don't believe you. He must have told you something.”

  “He didn't say a word.”

  “You're lying.”

  “No, Pastor. He didn't say and I didn't ask. It was no concern of mine.”

  “The two of you just happened to leave at the same time. Am I supposed to believe that's a coincidence?”

  “Of course not. We left because you were missing. A survival instinct, I suppose. We went our separate ways. But I may return at some point. Like I said, I'm taking a vacation.”

  “Where?”

  “I'm headed to Vermont. Give me a week or two to unwind and perhaps I'll head back.”

  “Unwind from what? Getting fucked up and sleeping it off? Get your ass back here, Frank. I need your help and I need it now.”

  “Sorry, Pastor.”

  “Frank! I'm not asking you!”

  “My cell phone is almost dead, Pastor. Let me call you back in a day or two.”

  “Frank!”

  Frank ended the call and immediately powered off his phone. He settled back in the seat, his heart racing.

  Dianne was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, her expression unreadable. “Is everything okay?”

  “I don't know. He wasn't about to admit what was going on over the phone. Like I told you, he's not stupid.”

  “Do you want me to turn around? Take you back?”

  “Of course not. This is precisely why I wanted to leave.” He reached into the back seat and came up with two cans of Pabst. “Would you like a beer?”

  “Not right now. I'm so fucked up I can barely see.” She turned a knob to speed up the windshield wipers. The rain was really coming down now.

  Frank set one of the beers into the cup holder and opened the other. He took a long drink. “Nothing has changed, Dianne. Forget about that call. All it tells me is that I made the right decision in leaving. I believe that things are about to turn very ugly back home.”

  16. The Toy Aisle

  Decked out in his full Pastor regalia, including a long, dark robe, Douglas McKenzie strode quickly through the well-lit aisles of Wal-Mart's automotive department. He turned a corner, almost bumping into a display of car batteries, and hurried on, muttering under his breath.

  “Son of a bitch. Every time I come in here, they've got
everything all changed around. I'm getting good and sick of it.”

  He turned again and marched past a pyramid of motor oil, finally locating the rows of toys and games. He slowed a bit, his eyes busy scanning each aisle in search of what he needed.

  “I'm in no mood to be choosy,” he whispered to himself. “I just want to get the hell out of here without any difficulties.”

  His thin black hair was slicked back on his head, the color matching his robe perfectly. A woman glanced up at him as she was waiting for her young son to finish choosing an elaborate water pistol. She smiled and he nodded, moving on.

  There were several kids in the area. The problem was, they were all with their parents. He strode away, cursing, heading toward the home and garden center. He'd give it a few minutes and circle back around.

  “Fucking little douche-bags are more trouble than they're worth. There ought to be a place where a man can get his hands on one without so much fuss and bother.”

  He spent a moment feigning interest in hoses and nozzles, feeling the eyes of the other shoppers scrutinizing him. It had probably been a mistake to wear his collar and robe. It lent him an air of holiness and trust, but at the same time it caused him to stand out excessively. He put it out of his mind and moved along, examining the prices beneath bags of peat moss.

  Pastor McKenzie had had a very bad week.

  It had started with a phone call from a Detective Mike Burlington. He was investigating the disappearance of Tyler Simms, who'd been missing since the previous July. Little Tyler's father was a local alderman and was putting a lot of pressure on the police department to come up with a viable lead in the case. Burlington had taken McKenzie in for questioning, as the Simms family had attended services at St. Paul's only two days before Tyler's disappearance. It was a long shot, and there was absolutely no physical evidence connecting McKenzie to any crime, but Burlington was being pushed into action and had no other suspects to harass and so was focusing solely on McKenzie. They'd gotten into a small argument and the next thing McKenzie knew the asshole detective was threatening to apply for a search warrant. It was unlikely a judge would issue one, considering the complete lack of evidence or motive, but with Simms throwing his weight around it wasn't impossible.

  McKenzie had left the police department in a fury. He could feel his world beginning to unravel; it was just a matter of time. He'd spent the next few days at his Shorewood home, drinking himself sick and trying to decide whether or not to bother cleaning out his massive vault. If the police did obtain a warrant they'd discover the vault for sure, and when they opened it, which they'd eventually manage to do, it would be all over for him.

  He'd finally come to the conclusion that he had no other choice but to try and clean it out. It was going to be a nightmare job. The vault was a treasure trove of torture devices and the decomposing bodies of dozens of children. Many of them were nothing but skeletons now, although some of their heads and other assorted body parts were preserved in massive jars of formaldehyde. There was also a full library of photographs and VHS tapes. He'd enjoyed his barbaric merriment over the years and was proud of all his trophies. They meant a lot to him.

  The task of cleaning it out was going to be a monumental one, and without the help of Frank or Edgar Stevens there was no way he'd be able to move some of the larger pieces of equipment.

  Not that he'd have been able to trust them with it anyhow. He thought he might have been able to blackmail them into helping and then kill them afterward, but they had both fled and he was left holding his own festering bag.

  “Fuckers,” he cursed. He abandoned the peat moss and made his way back toward the toy aisles. He was going to treat himself to a fresh child. It was the only thing he could think of that would lift this shroud of gloom that the world had thrown over him.

  It would be dangerous, of course; more dangerous than ever with Burlington on the prowl. But fuck Burlington and fuck the consequences. Douglas McKenzie had never run away or backed down from anyone or anything.

  He craved a child and by god he was going to get one.

  There.

  Over by the Lego's.

  A blonde boy of perhaps six or seven, studying the boxes gleefully. No parent or guardian anywhere in sight.

  McKenzie marched directly up to him, his long robe billowing out behind him. He was well practiced at this and knew how to appeal to kids.

  He smiled warmly as the young boy noticed his approach and glanced up at him. “Hi there, partner!” He crouched low, looking the boy in the eyes. “Do you remember me?”

  The boy took a small step back, not sure what was going on. He looked around nervously.

  “It's okay if you don't,” he continued. “I'm good friends with your dad. Did he tell you about the surprise party?”

  The boy stared at him, offering no response.

  “No? Well, I didn't think so! It wouldn't be much of a surprise if he did that, would it?” He feigned a merry laugh. He had to act quickly before someone turned the corner and saw him. “Your dad asked me to come and get you. Are you ready for an exciting birthday party?”

  A look of interest on the boy's face. “Whose birthday?”

  “Timmy. You remember Timmy?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “From school. Anyway, your dad is waiting. You ready to go?”

  He looked around, obviously troubled. “Where's mom?”

  “She's waiting in the car. Let's not keep her waiting.”

  Suddenly he turned back to the Lego's. “But she said I could get one! She promised!”

  “She already got you one, slugger. In fact she got two. Let's go out to the car and see which ones she got.” Without waiting for a reply, McKenzie scooped the boy up in his arms and began hurrying toward the front of the store. The little fellow smelled like apple juice and fruit striped gum, and he began to feel very aroused.

  “Who are you?” the boy asked, squirming around.

  “I told you. A friend of your dad. You can call me Uncle Doug.”

  “Uncle Doug. I never heard of you.”

  “Well, you have now.”

  “Why are you wearing a dress?”

  McKenzie walked on. He was feeling better already.

  “You'll find out soon enough.”

  17. Dianne Takes A Trip

  It was almost 9pm when Frank rolled the old Escort off of Interstate 80 and onto 29 outside Omaha. He'd been driving for over four hours and his back was beginning to protest. He got off at the first exit and turned the car south onto highway 75. A well-lit sign announced they were entering Bellevue, Nebraska. There were several restaurants and hotels lining the street and he slowed down, looking them over.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Shall we splurge tonight and eat dinner? Sleep in a bed?”

  Dianne was resting comfortably in the passenger seat, her feet propped up on the dashboard. She'd stopped drinking beer hours ago, but the two of them had just finished smoking the second half of their earlier joint. She glanced lazily out the window. “Sounds good to me. See any place that's Italian? I'm buying.”

  “Italian would be fine, although I'm not sure we're going to find anything better than a chain pizzeria.”

  “That's okay. Pizza is what I wanted anyway.”

  “Well, then, you're in luck.” He pulled into the small parking lot of Godfather's Pizza.

  Dianne sat up in her seat, gazing out at the restaurant. “If this is a chain, I never heard of it.”

  “Me either. But it looks open.”

  “I can smell the garlic from here.”

  “That's a good sign.” He parked the car and shut off the engine.

  Inside, they chose a secluded table near a window.
The waitress was a large, misshapen old woman with a perpetual scowl. She took their order and walked off, saying almost nothing.

  “Nice lady,” Dianne said.

  “She's had a rough life.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “It's obvious. The world wears you down when you play by the rules. It's something I'm trying to save you from, Dianne.”

  She smiled at that. “Thank you.”

  The pizza came quickly, and they were mildly surprised to find that it was good. They drank water for a change, giving their systems a break from the alcohol.

  “How are you doing, by the way?” Frank asked. There weren't many people in the small seating area, so they had plenty of privacy. “Everything copacetic?”

  She took a second slice of pizza and set it on her plate. “Yes. I'm trying to concentrate on having fun. I've never done this before, and I'm finding it just might agree with me.”

  “I'm very glad to hear that.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his little plastic bags. It was the one he'd obtained from Lester's shirt pocket. He set it on the table and proceeded to remove the sheet of blotter from within.

  Dianne watched him closely, her eyes briefly scanning the room to make sure they weren't being observed. “Time for more drugs?”

  “I really think you'll like this. If you're serious about concentrating on having fun, this could open up whole new worlds for you.” He separated two tabs from the sheet and gently placed them on the edge of her paper plate.

  She stared at them, a bemused expression on her face. “I'm not even sure what they are, or what I'm supposed to do with them.”

  “It's acid.” Frank pulled off four more hits and slipped them into his mouth. “Just suck on the paper for a minute or two. You can swallow it, but you don't have to.” He returned the remaining doses to the bag and put it away. “Don't worry. It has no taste.”

  “I wasn't worried about the taste.” She studied the blotter for a minute and then carefully lifted it up with two fingers, admiring the tiny blue unicorns printed on the surface. “I've heard crazy things about this stuff.”