Deviation Page 2

  “ And why does he hit you?”

  “I'm not sure. He gets mad, obviously. He's just... it's like his life is going down the tubes and he's trying to take me along with him. He'll be sitting there, playing his stupid game and eating a bowl of cereal. And he'll spill some of the cereal on the couch. He'll give me a dirty look like it's somehow my fault and yell at me to clean it up. And while I'm cleaning it up sometimes he'll reach over and grab my hair and start pulling it and calling me cruel names. And sometimes he'll punch me in the face or twist my arm real hard. This is just an example, but you get the idea. It seems to make him feel better when he hurts me.”

  Father Frank was listening intently. “Is he drunk when he does this?”

  “Not usually. He doesn't drink much. He helps himself to one of my beers now and then, but nothing major. He's just a stupid asshole. Sorry, Father. He eats a lot, plays his dumb game and abuses me. And it's getting worse.”

  Frank took a drink.

  “A few weeks ago I was complaining about the electric bill. It seems to go higher and higher every month, and obviously it's him using the electricity because I'm at work 40 hours a week. And he can't help with any bills because he doesn't work and doesn't qualify for unemployment. He's just a big useless loafer. And he got real mad and asked me what the fuck... sorry... what the heck he's supposed to do about it. He said it's my apartment, and it's my bill, and I shouldn't even be mentioning it to him. I asked him when he was going to look for a job and he threw his game controller at me and told me to mind my own business. Then he got up off the couch and shoved me into the TV.” She paused to take a drink. “I wasn't hurt too badly, but it was a shock, you know? I didn't see it coming.”

  “Have you asked him to leave?”

  “Yes. Several times. A few days after he pushed me into the TV, he beat me up for the first time.” Dianne licked her lips, trying to keep her voice steady. “It was horrible. I thought he was going to kill me. I'd never been beaten up before, not really. A few fistfights with other girls in grade school, but nothing like this. He had me down on the floor, and he was kicking me. He was kicking me as if he wanted to kill me.”

  “You can't let this continue,” Frank said.

  “I know.” There were tears coursing down her face now. She wiped them away. “He beat me up a few times like that, and then I called the police on him. They arrested him, but, I don't know, he was back a few days later. And then he beat me up really bad. I couldn't even go to work the next day, it hurt too much to walk. And he said... he said if I ever called the cops on him again he'd kill me. And I believe him.”

  Frank lifted his chin and rubbed it with one hand. “This is not good, Dianne.”

  She laughed miserably. “Tell me about it.”

  “Have you mentioned any of this to anyone? Your parents?”

  She shook her head. “I don't have parents. My biological mother... gave me away.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “I'm used to it by now. I've had several sets of foster parents, but none I kept in touch with.” She looked down at the table. “No one's ever had much use for me.”

  “And so you've decided to come here, hoping that I could offer you some help.” Frank finished his beer and set the can aside. He opened the other one and sat waiting for her response.

  Dianne took another drink. “I don't know that anyone can really help me. But after the other day... oh, god, he really went to work on me. He was punching me so hard in the stomach I was throwing up blood. He beat my head against the wall until I could barely see. I thought I was going to die. I didn't even do anything to cause it...”

  Frank reached across the table and took her hand, which was shaking. “This will not continue,” he told her.

  She stared at him, more tears spilling down her cheeks. She felt a tiny spark of hope, but she knew enough not to trust it. Hope had proven itself to be nothing but a distraction in the past. “I don't know what to do. I can't even go home...”

  “Of course you can.”

  “How? He never leaves. He'll beat me up again, for no reason.”

  “No he won't. Those days are over.”

  She took a deep breath, getting herself under control. She wiped her eyes again and took a long drink of beer, finishing her can. “How do you figure?”

  He released her hand and slid an unopened Pabst across the table. “Would you like another?”

  Dianne considered it for a moment and then nodded. She popped the top and took a drink. She was beginning to get the impression that Father Frank was really going to help her.

  “Let me ask you something,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  He rubbed his face, his eyes closing briefly. “Have you ever shot meth?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Methamphetamine,” he clarified. Have you ever mainlined it?”

  She was suddenly nervous again. “I've never even seen meth. I've never considered using it in any way.”

  “Yes... well...” He rubbed his face again and then clawed lightly at his chest. “I've given up shooting it. But I miss it terribly. You've never even smoked it?”

  “No. I wouldn't want to.”

  “Are you sure? It's extremely enjoyable.”

  “You don't really use meth, do you? Isn't that... illegal?”

  Father Frank laughed. “By the laws of man, yes. But I answer to a higher power.”

  She guzzled some beer. She had a slight buzz going and she had to admit, this priest was very unusual and quite interesting. “You mean... god doesn't mind if you use it?”

  “Not at all. At least he hasn't said anything to me about it.”

  She couldn't help smiling at that. “I don't think meth would help me.”

  “No, probably not.” He leaned back in his chair. “You know what I like about it most?”

  “What?”

  “When you shoot meth, you yourself become god. There's no one more powerful, and there's no power higher than yourself. There's nothing else like it.” He took a drink. “It's the finest feeling in all the world.”

  Dianne was silent, not sure how to respond.

  “I'm trying to stick with smoking. You sure you don't want some?”

  “No. Thank you, though.”

  “I wouldn't ask you for any money.”

  “No. I really don't want any.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Dianne waited for him to do something, but he only sat there. She took a gulp of her Pabst, feeling disappointed. This priest wasn't going to be of any help after all. He was a mess, and had probably already forgotten about her problems. She felt suddenly awkward, sitting there beside him. “Thank you for the beer, Father. And for listening to me. But I guess I'd better be going now.”

  “Soon, Dianne. Soon. First we need to take care of your little problem.”

  3. The Paring Knife

  “I hate to say this,” Frank told her. “But I really do think that you're at least partially to blame for your situation.”

  The words stung. Dianne stared at him, waiting for him to continue. They'd each consumed another beer while Frank asked her more questions, and now he was apparently ready to tell her it was all her fault.

  “Your problem is that you allow it,” Frank went on. He was quite drunk at this point, but he held his liquor well. He ran two fingers beneath his collar, attempting to loosen it and get more comfortable. “Are you familiar with the Old Testament?”

  “No. I'm not familiar with anything religious. Like I said, this is my first time in a church.”

  “That's right. Well, the Old Testament focuses on god's power. I won't bore you with the details, but one thing it practically smothers you with is god's te
ndency to seek out revenge against sinners. It supposedly gives hope to his followers to continue in his ways. It's also supposed to serve as an example of what happens when god's followers fail to obey his word.”

  Dianne settled back in her chair, her hands wrapped around her third can of beer. She didn't really want to hear about god and sinners. She just wanted to know what to do about Cliff. She was comfortable here, though, and she sort of liked Father Frank despite his apparent lunacy, and she was certainly in no rush to get home. “It doesn't sound like you necessarily agree with it,” she said.

  “I don't. Do you ever pray, Dianne?”

  “No. I've tried it, but it never did me any good.”

  “That makes two of us. God seems to be quite good at ignoring our prayers.”

  She stared at him, startled. “You mean, he doesn't answer yours either?”

  “Of course not. In fact, if he exists at all, he seems to do the exact opposite of whatever I request. So I'm not really sure how much faith I'd put into him at this point. As far as I know, he hates us all.”

  “But... why are you a priest, then?”

  He grinned and took another drink of beer. “That's a long story. And it's one I'd be glad to share with you, but not today. Today we're going to do what's necessary to solve your problem.”

  “So you're not just going to tell me to ask god for help?”

  “No. That wouldn't do a bit of good, and we both know it. God doesn't care, Dianne.”

  The words frightened her, and she wasn't sure why. Perhaps because she sensed they were true. “But you do?”

  “Yes. I find you to be quite likable.”

  Another flood of emotion. “Thank you. I find you to be the same way.”

  “That's very kind of you to say.” He studied her for a moment. “I haven't really helped anyone in a long time. I'd like to help you.”

  “I'd be so grateful.”

  He was staring at her. “You're remarkably attractive, by the way. This Cliff character gets me angrier and angrier the more I hear about him.”

  Dianne felt touched by the comment, and slightly unnerved. “You're very unusual for a priest. I probably wouldn't even mention it, but the beer is kind of lowering my inhibitions.”

  “Yes, it's good for that, isn't it?” He titled his head back and finished off another can. “Good for the head, too. At least while you're drinking it. The morning is another story.”

  Dianne laughed softly. “This will be my last one.”

  “That's up to you. You're welcome to have more if you'd like.”

  She glanced around the room, wondering if there was anyone else around. She hadn't heard a sound from anywhere else in the church. “They don't mind that you keep all that beer in here? And that you use drugs?”

  Frank scratched at his whiskers and rubbed his eyes. “Father Stevens minds, but who cares? At least in regards to my drug use. But he drinks almost as much as I do, and he helps no one, not even himself.” He got up quickly and peered into the refrigerator. “You sure you don't want another one?”

  “I'm good.”

  Frank took another can and returned to the table, cracking it open. “Anyway, he's the only priest around here besides me.”

  “What about the other guy? I forgot what you called him.”

  “The pastor?”

  “That's the one.”

  Frank smiled vindictively. “How shall I put this? The pastor disapproves of me, no question about it. But I know certain things about him that he wouldn't want getting out. Serious things. Things that would land him in prison, to say the very least. The pastor lets me do whatever the hell I want. He's really got no choice.”

  “You probably shouldn't even be telling me this.”

  “Probably not. But it's not like I'm telling you what he's done. I couldn't do that, even if I wanted to. It's my little secret, and I need the leverage. My days here are numbered, and I'm not about to do anything to make things worse for myself.”

  Dianne looked at him with genuine concern. “Why are your days numbered?”

  “Enough about me for now, Dianne. I'd love to sit here and talk with you about myself sometime, and I really do hope we get that opportunity. But you walked in here today looking for help, and by god I'm going to give it to you.”

  A sense of excitement began to stir within her. “Really?”

  “Yes. We'll put an end to this little dilemma of yours once and for all.”

  “How?”

  Father Frank took a deep breath and followed it up with another gulp of beer. “You need to change yourself, Dianne. You need to change the person you are before you can truly solve this problem.”

  She slumped in her seat. “That could take years.”

  “Bullshit. Sit up straight.”

  She did.

  “That's better. It won't take years unless you want it to. Or, I should say, unless you allow it to. If you really want to put an end to that pissant's abuse, you'll change yourself right this minute.”

  She stared at him, fully absorbed. “How?”

  “You'll make a decision. You'll stop being a victim. It's quite simple, really. Instead of running around looking for help in churches or in phone calls to the police, you'll stand up and solve the problem yourself. And when you do, you'll wonder what the hell took you so long.”

  She was captivated by his attitude, but she still had no clue as to what to do. She gulped some more beer. “But... how?”

  He pounded the table with his fist. “You fight back, that's how!”

  “I can't! He's too big! He'll kill me for sure if I try to fight him!”

  Frank was up in a flash. He crossed the room and yanked open a small drawer near the sink. Reaching inside, he fumbled around for a moment and then extracted a small paring knife. While he was up he opened the cabinet again and stared at the collection of bottles arranged there. He ground his teeth, scrutinized the selection and finally pulled down a fifth of Wild Turkey which was more than half full. He returned to the table and sat down.

  “Do you know what this is?” he asked, holding up the small knife.

  “It looks like a paring knife.”

  “That's right. It's also the solution to your entire fiasco.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes. Often times the answers to our problems are quite simple. There's no need to over-complicate things.” Frank held the knife to his mouth and closed his eyes. He mumbled something incoherent and then kissed the blade. When he opened his eyes again he smiled at Dianne and set the knife on the table, sliding it toward her. “I blessed it for you. I guarantee you, this will work.”

  She was doubtful. “You want me to stab him with a paring knife?”

  “I want you to go home. I want you to go about your business, whatever that might be. I want you to live in peace, Dianne, but if that boisterous cocksucker tries to hurt you again, in any way, I want you to immediately pull out this knife and start slicing him up.”

  “But...”

  “No more excuses! If you keep making these irrelevant excuses, he's going to end up killing you. Is that what you want?”

  “No. Of course not.” She stared at the knife, feeling scared. She couldn't even imagine trying to fight Cliff off with the little paring knife.

  “I didn't think so. I want you to take this knife, and know that this knife is blessed. I want you to take it and conceal it, but I want you to keep it handy at all times. Keep it in your pocket, or your purse, or wherever you want. It doesn't matter where you keep it, just so long as you can get your hands on it when you need to. And when he starts his bullying I want you to take it out and just start cutting him up with it. Go for the face, the eyes. You ne
ed to scare him as badly as you need to harm him. Make every gash count.”

  She was almost stunned. “What if I kill him? I'll go to prison.”

  “I would advise you to try and avoid actually killing him. But you need to at least give him the impression that you're willing to go that far. Even that you want to. You need to cut him to ribbons, until he's screaming and crying for you to stop. Or until he flees the apartment, afraid for his life. You need to turn the tide, Dianne. You need to establish yourself as a hardened bitch who has reached the end of her rope and is prepared to do whatever is necessary to end his abuse. Is that clear?”

  It was clear, but she still didn't think she could do it. She nodded, skeptically.

  “Take the knife, Dianne.”

  She reached her hand out and placed her fingers on top of the knife's handle.

  “Pick it up.”

  She lifted it, held it in her hand. She tested its weight, which was very insubstantial. And yet there seemed to be something very substantial about the little knife itself. Could he really have blessed it? Or was he just insane?

  “How does it feel?”

  It was very comfortable in her hand. Reassuring, even. “It feels... good.”

  Frank smiled. “Good. I'm glad to hear that. Now put it away, somewhere safe.”

  She opened her small purse and slipped the knife inside. She had several just like it at home, but she didn't want to disappoint Frank by telling him this.

  “When you get home, be sure you have it ready.”

  “I will,” she promised. She felt suddenly better somehow. It dawned on her then, staring across the table at him, that she really might do this. If Cliff began to hit her and beat her again, she might actually pull out this knife and fight back. The idea of it thrilled her.

  “You know,” Frank said. “I think you're fully capable of solving this little problem of yours, Dianne. I have faith in you.”

  She almost wept with gratitude. No one had ever spoken to her like this before. “Thank you. That... means a lot to me.”