Deviation Page 13

  “Almost all of it is untrue, I assure you. You've probably heard about marijuana being a killer weed, too, at some point.”

  She nodded, still smiling. “So I won't leap off the roof, thinking I can fly?”

  “I can't say for certain, but it's very unlikely.”

  “Will I hallucinate?”

  “Probably not. Not in the way you're thinking, anyway. You'll be more likely to notice the intricacies within everyday objects. Within everything, really. It's a different way of seeing the world. It doesn’t so much alter your perception as it does unlock it.” He took a sip of water. “It will bring you closer to god; or, more specifically, to nature.”

  “Well...” She considered it for a moment. Then she sighed and set the paper on her tongue. “What the hell. I've always liked nature, and I'm obviously up for new adventures.”

  Frank smiled. “You won't be sorry, Dianne. Happy trails, by the way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You'll know exactly what I mean in about an hour.”

  * * *

  They rented a room two blocks from the pizza place, at a Rodeway Inn. They were on the second floor, the windows overlooking the parking lot. Frank set their bags down near the big double bed and turned to regard Dianne as she shut the door behind her.

  “Not bad for $60,” he remarked.

  She was carrying her imported bottle of rum which was still unopened. She stepped further into the room and set it on a small table near the bathroom door. “It beats the hell out of the car. I thought for sure we'd be sleeping in it.”

  “Only as a last resort. We'll do what we want to do as long as we can. When that no longer works for us we'll do what we have to.”

  “I don't even want to think about it right now. God, that bed looks good!”

  Frank frowned. “You won't be getting much sleep, I'm afraid.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “The acid won't allow it.”

  She looked almost shocked. “Are you serious? Why did we take it so late at night?”

  He shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Once it kicks in, you won't be the least bit tired. We can sleep in the morning. What's the difference?”

  She thought about it. “I guess it doesn't really matter. It's not like I have to get up early for work or anything.”

  “Exactly. You're free now.”

  Dianne stepped up to him, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him on the mouth. “I am, aren't I?”

  “You are.”

  “And it's all thanks to you.”

  “It's thanks to the decisions you've made.”

  “True. But I was pretty heavily influenced by a certain rogue priest.”

  “You think I'm a rogue?”

  “Maybe. A little bit at least.” She stared at him. He looked different somehow.

  “Everything okay?”

  She nodded. She knew she was on drugs, but for the first time she really felt it. There was an unfamiliar heaviness settling in, altering the way her body and mind coalesced. She'd never even been conscious of the connection before, but she certainly was now. They were tangled together, inseparable, and as she considered their extraordinary symbiosis, she pictured the word Drugs in her mind and saw it lit up there like a neon sign. Every cell in her body felt like it was on drugs. It was scary and exciting at the same time.

  “I think it's kicking in,” Frank said.

  It took her a few seconds to realize what he was talking about. As she was looking at him, the individual strands of stubble on his cheeks seemed to sway and shift, trading places with each other. His whole face was shifting, very subtly, and then shifting back again before she could get a handle on it. “You look weird,” she said.

  “It's the acid. It's fresher than I would have guessed.”

  “Is that good?”

  “It is if you want to experience a bona fide trip. I probably should have only given you one hit.”

  She thought for a moment that Frank was aging rapidly, right before her eyes. The shallow creases in his face deepened into wrinkles and his face itself softened and began to loosen. It only lasted for a second and then it was gone. Then it was back, suddenly, and his face appeared to be melting like hot wax. She had to blink and look away. When she did, she realized her eyes felt funny, almost as if they'd been peeled. It was hard to be sure. “I'm really fucked up.”

  “It's just getting started. Perhaps you ought to sit down.”

  “Perhaps I should.” She watched as Frank lifted a hand to scratch behind his ear. The movement of his arm left a blurry sort of rainbow, as if she were seeing him in slow motion. She blinked again, simultaneously noticing an odd taste in her mouth and a flickering in her vision. “Perhaps I ought to sit down.”

  “That's a good idea.”

  He helped her to sit on the edge of the bed. Her muscles felt as if they'd been liquified. Even her hands felt strange, like they had someone else's skin stretched over them. The skin was too tight. She raised one and looked it, amazed to see that it left another brief rainbow-trail as she moved it. “Perhaps,” she said.

  “Perhaps what?”

  “Perhaps.” She waved her hand in front of her face, marveling at the colors that streaked before her eyes. “Perhaps... everything is so bright.”

  “Tripping can be very visual.”

  Dianne stared at her hand. It appeared to be moving on its own, the muscles beneath the skin pulsing and modifying themselves into new, ever changing formations. Even the skin itself seemed to be alive and breathing. It bothered her and she closed her eyes for a minute, attempting to reclaim herself.

  It didn't work. With her eyes closed she saw other things, things she probably wasn't supposed to see. It was likely the capillaries in her eyelids she was seeing, but they had taken on new life. She watched them move around and transform into endless patterns and shapes. Faces began to appear and she quickly opened her eyes again, trying to get away from them.

  “I'm not sure I like this,” she said.

  “You'll get used to it after a bit,” Frank promised. “Personally I love it. I'd like to live here.” He pulled a bag of weed from his pocket and sat beside her on the bed. “A little smoke will enhance the visuals.”

  “Oh, god.” She slid off the bed and got to her knees on the floor. She eased herself forward, rubbing her hands over the surface of the carpet. “Look at them all,” she whispered. The carpet was covered in sparkling jewels, all of them dancing and glittering and breathing. “There are so many of them!”

  “An endless supply,” Frank agreed. He fumbled out his rolling papers and began to roll a joint.

  “What are they? My god, they're everywhere!” She crawled forward on her hands and knees, rubbing her hands all over the floor. She tried to collect the things she saw, and then realized they were all over her, too. She was made of them. “They're everywhere! They're...everything.”

  Frank had finished rolling his joint. He put his baggie away and found his lighter. “It's the world, Dianne. You've never really seen it before.”

  “Perhaps.” She liked that word. She could see it as it came out of her mouth. It was light and airy, and it floated to the carpet and became lost in the sea of shifting jewels. She sat up, staring at her hands again. They were changing, growing, breathing. They were covered with pores. Of course they were. Why hadn't she ever noticed them before? “This is amazing. Is this really happening?”

  “It is for now. Come sit with me and smoke a little.”

  She looked over at him. He looked like some sort of human animal dressed up in a priest costume. Is that what he was? A human animal? She realized she was a human an
imal, too. All people were human animals. They were not much different from insects; not much different from shit beetles. Why weren't they aware of it? “Why do we...?”

  Frank lit the joint. “Why do we what?”

  She crawled closer to him. “Why do we...” She ran her hands over his pant leg. “My god, you're covered in them!”

  “So are you, Dianne.” He took a hit and offered her the joint. “It's nothing to worry about. They're always there; we're usually just not able to see them.”

  “I love them!”

  “As do I.”

  She took the joint. She stared at it, mesmerized. “It's... it's covered in them, too.”

  “Everything is. It wants you to smoke it, Dianne.”

  She put it to her lips. Her mouth tasted strange and she thought maybe the smoke would help. She inhaled deeply, her whole body glowing from within.

  Frank slid off the bed and sat beside her on the floor. “Just relax and enjoy yourself. Forget everything you've ever been taught.”

  She smiled and passed him the joint. There were faces in the smoke and they were all grinning at her.

  18. The News

  Dianne was sitting on the floor, the edge of the bedspread pulled halfway into her lap. She was playing with it and studying it, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The creases and colorful patterns on the fabric kept morphing into new configurations and she was almost hypnotized by it.

  “You're really enjoying that blanket,” Frank noted.

  She looked up at him. She felt kind of thirsty but she thought it might be her imagination. “Yes. I wish I had one like this at home.” She realized with a start that she no longer had a home, and while this normally would have upset her, it didn't do so now. It was thanks to the acid, she knew. “How long does this stuff last, anyway? I think you might have already told me, but I forget.”

  “It depends. It will probably start wearing off noticeably after eight or ten hours.”

  “Ten hours? I don't know if I'll be able to stand it for ten hours.”

  “Well, you're halfway there. I think you'll manage.”

  She blinked at him, surprised. “We've already been here for five hours?” It didn't seem possible. It felt like she'd just sat down twenty minutes ago.

  “Almost.”

  “But...” She watched him. He'd apparently rolled about 20 or 30 joints and was in the process of constructing a small log cabin out of them. “...what are you doing?”

  Frank set another joint into place. “I'm not sure. I'm tripping quite hard.”

  “Did you roll all those?”

  “I must have. Would you like one?” He reached over, offering her one.

  Dianne accepted it. She rolled it around between her fingers, admiring it. “You're really good at this. Mine always fall apart and unroll while I'm smoking them.”

  “It's a simple matter of practice.”

  “I guess.” She studied the joint closely. “My god, it's so twisty!”

  “Would you like to smoke it?”

  She looked back over at him. “I'm not sure. I think I want a drink. I mean, not booze, but just... a soda or something. I think I'm thirsty.”

  “You're not sure?”

  “No. But I keep thinking of it, so I must be.”

  Frank scooped his joints into a big pile. “That's probably the case.” He transferred the joints into the bag which held the remainder of the weed. “I did see a vending machine downstairs, when we came in. I'll go down and get you a soda.”

  “Diet Coke, if they have it.”

  “Alright.” He stood up, a little unsteady, and set the bag on the dresser. Then he checked his pocket to make sure he had the room key and some change. “I'll be right back.”

  * * *

  Downstairs, Frank found the vending machine just off to the side of the front desk. There was a different clerk on duty now, and he had a small television playing which was showing a rebroadcast of the local nightly news. Frank pulled the change from his pocket and began feeding it into the machine.

  He wanted to get them each a can of soda, but the price was so high he ran out of change after buying only one. He took the soda and carried it over to the desk where the clerk, a young man with a shaved head and glasses, was transfixed by what he was watching on the small screen.

  “Excuse me,” Frank said. He pulled out his wallet and extracted a dollar bill. “Would I be able to get change for the vending machine?”

  The man looked over at him. He seemed surprised to see Frank standing there. “It takes dollar bills,” he said.

  “Oh.” Frank felt stupid; he must have known this already. The acid was very strong, making it difficult to think clearly. He stared at the man, watching his head give off colorful rays as if it were a small sun. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “No bother.” The man turned back to the TV.

  Frank followed his gaze. The sound was up loud enough for him to hear, and he stood there a moment longer as the news anchor relayed a story out of Milwaukee regarding the abduction of a child from a Wal-mart store. There was an Amber Alert out for the seven year old boy. As Frank watched, the screen changed to show a photo of the boy and then it changed again to show an image that made his blood run cold: a photograph of Douglas McKenzie. The anchor went on to inform listeners that McKenzie was last seen carrying the boy out of the store and driving away in a black minivan. This had taken place hours ago, and since then police had traced him to St. Paul's church on the east side of the city. The next thing he saw on the screen was a video of St. Paul's engulfed in flames, the fire reaching high up into the twilight sky. His knees felt weak and he found it difficult to draw breath.

  “You okay, buddy?” the clerk asked.

  Frank nodded. The entire lobby was swimming around, the motion almost nauseating him.

  “Sick bastard. They say he might be responsible for dozens of missing kids.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah.” The clerk looked back to the TV. “Why is it the most deranged killers always come from Wisconsin?”

  Frank put his wallet back in his pocket. He suddenly felt the need to get away. When the screen changed again, there was a photo of Father Stevens alongside a photo of himself. Possible accomplices, the anchor was explaining. Wanted for questioning by police.

  The clerk turned his head and looked at Frank again. He studied him closer this time, taking in the clerical collar and the cassock. “Hey,” he said. He looked back at the TV and then back to Frank. “Hey!”

  “Don't jump to conclusions,” Frank warned. He set the can of soda down and leaned over the counter. “I'd like to check out now.”

  “I'll bet you would.” There was a telephone beneath the counter and within seconds the man had the receiver up to his ear and was dialing an unseen number. It was a short one, probably no more than three digits.

  “Put the phone down,” Frank ordered. He looked for a way to get behind the counter. There was a small hinged section off to the side and he stepped over and lifted it up. “Let's talk this over.”

  “Stay back!” the clerk shouted. Then, into the phone: “Hi. My name is Greg Lindross and I'm calling from the Rodeway Inn in Bellevue. There's a man here...”

  Frank was around the counter before Greg could finish his sentence. There was very little time to think. He grabbed the phone's handset from beneath the counter and without the slightest hesitation smashed it against the side of Greg's head. The little bell rang and Greg grunted, staggering back a step but not dropping the phone. He hunched over, attempting to protect himself from further assault as he continued to try and relay his message.

  “...from the TV... the priest...”

 
Frank hit him again with the handset and then tore the phone out of his grip. In a wild delirium, he began wrapping the phone cord around Greg's neck. Greg yelled and beat his fists at him, but Frank wasn't deterred. He got the cord good and tight and then yanked it savagely, causing Greg to gasp and fall to his knees. His fingers tore at the cord as his face turned red, his eyes bulging in their sockets.

  “You would have done well to give me a chance to explain,” Frank told him. He maintained his grip as Greg flailed around, kicking and punching in a frenzied attempt to free himself. There was no one else in the lobby, thankfully; just Frank and Greg and the voice of an operator on the other end of the phone.

  “Sir?” the shrill voice was asking. “Sir, are you there?”

  Frank ripped the phone cord from the wall. He held the other cord with one hand, the fight going out of the clerk very quickly as his face turned a deep shade of purple. It was impossible to tell if it was really purple or if was an effect of the LSD, but Frank supposed it didn't matter. He held on until Greg's body went completely limp and slid lifelessly to the floor. Then he released it and straightened up.

  “Thank you, my lord,” he muttered. “Thy kingdom come – for this grace has for its object good things to come.”

  He shoved Greg's body closer to the counter, so that it wasn't visible from the other side. Then he made his way back around and purchased another can of soda from the machine. He was breathing very quickly, his heart pounding.

  * * *

  “You did what?” Dianne asked incredulously. She was still sitting on the floor, her back against the bed as she peered up at him.

  “I had no choice. He was going to turn me in.”

  “You could have...” She rubbed her chin, trying to think. “Jeez, I don't know. Maybe just tied him up or something?”

  “This was easier.”