Deviation Read online

“Just make sure you don't stop too soon. He needs to know you're serious. He needs to be scared for his life.”

  She thought about it. “And if I go to prison?”

  “You won't. You're already on record with the police as being the victim of domestic abuse. And you've told me enough so that you've got my trust as well. I'll back you up, if needed.”

  “You really mean that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  A great weight seemed to lift from her. “Thank you, Father!”

  “You're very welcome.”

  She already felt like the worst was behind her. “I can't believe...”

  “What?”

  “I didn't really think coming here would actually help me. It was more of a desperate fantasy. But now... I really think this might put an end to my problem.”

  “It will, Dianne. It will indeed.”

  She smiled and guzzled from her can. As she did, Father Frank removed the cap from the bourbon.

  “Why don't you have a little taste with me? To celebrate?”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Why not? At this time tomorrow, your so-called boyfriend will be nothing but a bad memory.”

  She nodded, feeling better than she had in months. “Alright.”

  Frank took a mouthful of bourbon directly from the bottle and swallowed it down, his eyes watering. “Ah, that's good. Maybe you can help me kill the bottle.”

  Dianne laughed. “I don't know about that. But maybe one or two swigs.”

  Frank grinned and handed her the bottle. He watched, pleased, as she tilted it to her mouth.

  4. Frank's Room

  After Dianne left, Frank straightened up the kitchen and put away what was left of the bourbon. He felt good about helping her. It wasn't often anyone wandered into the old church anymore, and on the rare occasion when someone did, he wasn't able to offer much in the way of assistance. This time it had been different.

  He liked her. It had been a long time since he'd spent any real time in the presence of a woman, in any capacity, and Dianne reminded him of how much he missed it. He hoped that things would work out for her and that she'd come back and inform him of her progress. She promised to do just that, before she'd left.

  He thought about grabbing another beer or two and taking them to his room, but decided against it. He'd had enough to drink already. It was time for something else.

  Frank lived in the church, and his room was on the south side of the building. He had to cross through the sanctuary and pass by the restrooms and two of the classrooms in order to reach it. As he made his way through the silent hallways, he wondered briefly where Stevens and McKenzie were. He hadn't seen Stevens since early that morning, and he hadn't seen McKenzie in days. It was starting to worry him. If the old bastard had been arrested it wasn't likely he'd be coming back. Of course, if that was the case the police would have been there by now, turning the place upside down in their pursuit of evidence.

  He cursed softly as a sharp pain in his stomach caused him to double over. The bourbon seemed to be doing that to him more frequently now. Stupid, really, to drink so much of it. But he'd been having such a nice time with Dianne and he hadn't wanted it to end.

  After a moment the pain passed and he straightened up. It would return, he knew, at least a couple more times during the night. It was probably an ulcer. He wiped his hands on his cassock, taking a deep breath and steadying himself. He was quite drunk. It was a pleasant feeling, and yet it made him crave further stimulation.

  Before continuing on to his living quarters he stopped in the men's room to use the facilities. He urinated and washed his hands and face. Peering at himself in one of the cracked mirrors, he wondered what the hell he was going to do if Pastor McKenzie had run off or gotten himself killed. Even if he hadn't, it was only a matter of time. It would be the end of their church, and Frank had no contingency plan. He was getting old, but not old enough to die or retire. Hell, at 48 he might still have another 30 years left in him. And while he didn't particularly enjoy life, he knew how to have a good time. He needed to put his mind to work and figure things out.

  “I'd ask for your guidance, my lord, but what would you tell me?” He looked around the dirty restroom, waiting for a sign from above. “Exactly. You'd ignore me, like you always do. So what's the point?”

  He dried his hands and left the room, turning the corner at the end of the hall and unlocking the door to his apartment.

  Father Frank's apartment was a small one bedroom unit with a twin-sized bed and sparse furnishings, most of them old and decrepit like everything else in the church. There was one window, overlooking a small patch of dirt and weeds. After locking the door and flipping on the light, he walked over and pulled the shade down, shutting out the night.

  “I wonder what I should do,” he said aloud. He sat down on his bed, running a hand through his hair. “Don't worry, my lord, I'm talking to myself. I know you're always eager to jump in and assist me, but you just relax, alright? I'm going to lay low for the night and do some deep thinking.”

  He reached over and pulled open the small drawer in his nightstand. There was a plastic bag there, and he lifted it out and held it up to the light. He was almost out of meth. It infuriated him. He loved using drugs, but he hated buying them. It was a major pain in the ass. The money was bad enough, but the overall hassle of tracking them down and associating with dealers made him sick with anxiety. He'd only recently found a dealer he was able tolerate; a young Mexican fellow named Lester. Lester was handy because he'd stop by the church, making deliveries. He'd have to call Lester soon and arrange for more.

  In the meantime, Frank poked at the bag, trying to determine how many more times he could get high on what he had left. “Three, maybe four,” he said aloud. “I should hold off on smoking it until I at least confirm something with the asshole.” He sighed regretfully and put the baggie back in the drawer. Then he slid it closed and sat back on his bed.

  “I suppose I really ought to do some thinking,” he told the room. “Before I find myself with my back against the wall and nowhere to turn.” He snarled. “McKenzie, you stupid fuck!”

  Frank reached over to the nightstand and lifted his bible. He brought it closer and set it on his lap. It was the same bible he'd been using since seminary, over 20 years ago. “I need some enlightenment. This always helps with my thinking.”

  He'd been talking to himself for many years. Sometimes he spoke to god, but in reality he didn't think that god was even there, so his words were usually dripping with sarcasm. If god was there, he'd never given the slightest indication of knowing or caring the least bit in regards to anything Frank had ever said or done.

  He opened the bible, revealing a hollowed-out center. He'd done it with a box cutter when he was 26 years old, the same age that Dianne was now. He thought about Dianne for a moment, wondering if she'd gotten home to the miserable Cliff yet. Probably. He hoped she'd be okay. She'd had a lot to drink, but she seemed like a very resourceful woman. He tried to put her out of his mind temporarily as he reached into the bible and came up with another baggie.

  This one was rolled up, and he shook it open. He held it up, estimating that he still had almost an eighth of an ounce of weed left. It wasn't something he used on a daily basis, as it truly did have the tendency to make him think more clearly, and that wasn't something he was normally eager to do. Still, it got him high and it complimented the alcohol very nicely. He pulled a package of rolling papers from the bible and proceeded to roll a joint.

  “Might as well tell that idiot to bring me some more of this, too. Stock up for awhile so I don't have to worry about it.” An idea came to him then. “See, my lord? I have an idea already, and I didn't even smoke anything yet.”
/>   He removed a lighter from the bible and ignited his new cigarette. He took a powerful drag, the end of it glowing orange beneath the weak light of the ceiling bulb. He held the smoke in for a long time, until he could no longer stand it. Then he expelled, noisily, gasping for a moment as he got his breathing under control. “I've got to get out of here. I need to leave this church, before the cops and the media catch wind of that crazy old pervert. It's a miracle they haven't already. I'm not going down for his shit. I've got nothing to do with any of it.”

  He took another hit. “Fucking cops won't care,” he croaked, trying to hold his breath and talk at the same time. Smoke drifted out of his mouth and hung lazily in the air before him. “They'll just assume me and Stevens were involved. Fucking Stevens, even he's not that crazy. He's no worse than me.”

  Frank exhaled, adding to the cloud of smoke drifting throughout the room. “I need to hit the road. I can't just sit here, my lord. They wouldn't give me a chance. I should have left a long time ago, but I just keep putting it off.”

  Another hit. “But I'm going to want to stock up extra heavy on the drugs. I'm going to have zero contacts if I leave here, and I'm not going anywhere without at least a full years supply. I'll tell Lester to bring me everything he can get his hands on. That way I can just go, anywhere, anytime.”

  He exhaled again and settled back on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. “Shit. I just hope I can scrape up enough money. What do you think, my lord? And after I'm ready, where shall I go?”

  Frank waited for some type of sign, but of course there was no sign. He wanted to believe in god, but if there was a god he didn't make it easy.

  “Maybe I should just get into a car and go. I don't really need to know where I'm going, do I?” He thought about it. “And that way, if anyone comes looking for me, how will they know where I went when I don't know myself? No one will ever find me.”

  He took another hit and pulled out his cell phone.

  It was time to call Lester.

  5. Cliff

  Dianne was drunk when she pulled her car up in front of her apartment building and shut off the ignition. She'd sat with Father Frank for longer than she planned, gulping Wild Turkey from the bottle as they passed it back and forth. She must have drunk five or six mouthfuls, on top of the three or four beers. She felt fortified, and full of vigor. For the past several weeks, the prospect of getting out of her car and entering the apartment had filled her with a sickening dread. Now she was almost looking forward to it. She pictured Frank, sitting across the table from her and telling her that he had faith in her. Confidence surged through her and she paused to check her purse to make sure the little knife was still there.

  It was.

  She stared at it, imagining it held a special energy. Maybe it did. It was blessed by a priest, after all. A priest who told her exactly what to do with it. She smiled to herself, thinking that her first impressions of Father Frank were way off. He really was helping her. To her amazement, she was actually looking forward to going inside and seeing what would transpire when Cliff went too far just one more time.

  Dianne climbed out of the car, unsteady on her feet. She was lucky to have gotten a parking spot so close to her building. She stood there for a moment, looking up at the third floor window. The sky had grown dark and she could see that the lights in her apartment were on. Electricity being used. Cliff was up there, playing his video game and wondering why she hadn't gotten home from work yet.

  Well, he'd find out soon enough. She found her keys and climbed the steps to the front door.

  * * *

  Upstairs, she paused in front of her door. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves. She was always apprehensive about entering the apartment, but this time she felt certain that something was going to be resolved.

  It almost had to be.

  Using her keys, Dianne let herself in. Cliff was there, on the couch as usual. He wasn't holding his game controller, though. He just sat there, staring at her, the TV tuned to an old episode of Barney Miller.

  “I had to work late,” she said before Cliff had a chance to ask. She closed the door, set her purse down on the table and began removing her jacket.

  “Where the hell's dinner?” Cliff asked. “It's almost eight o'clock!”

  “I thought you would have eaten by now.”

  “How was I supposed to know you were coming home so late? You didn't even call to tell me.”

  “Because I had to work. It was busy, too busy to make phone calls.” She stumbled as she was closing the hallway closet and had to catch herself on the wall. “Some people work, you know.”

  Cliff stared at her suspiciously. He was quite a bit older than her, having recently turned 34. He had a sizeable gut and his greasy black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore only his underwear and his socks, his big white belly looking almost like a pillow in his lap. “What the fuck? Are you drunk?”

  “No.” She walked past him to get a drink of water from the kitchen. All that alcohol had really dehydrated her. “I'm going to bed early. I have to work late again tomorrow.” In truth, she just wanted to get away from him. He disgusted her in more ways than she could count.

  “You're not going anywhere!” Cliff growled. “I haven't eaten a goddamn thing all night long! We have no decent food in here!”

  Dianne filled a glass with water from a gallon jug she kept in the refrigerator. The water that came out of the faucet was white and chalky and stank of chemicals; she avoided drinking it whenever possible. “What the hell am I supposed to do about it?” She didn't normally speak to him like this. She realized she was trying to aggravate him intentionally.

  Cliff clenched his fists, snarling. “You're the one with the fucking job, remember? That means you're supposed to be buying the food!”

  “Every time I buy food, you just eat it and it's gone.”

  “That's what it's for, you idiot! What am I supposed to do, save it?”

  “Some of it. I like to have something to eat, too, when I get home from work.”

  He twisted on the couch to better track her as she emerged from the kitchen. “Then stop at the fucking store on your way home. You've got the car, you've got the money, use them! I can't believe I'm still sitting here waiting for fucking dinner!”

  Dianne drank from her glass. She hated this life. She hated Cliff. She wanted him to leap up and strike her so that she could end it.

  “You're going to be waiting an awfully long time.”

  He looked at her, startled. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You are drunk. Fucking cunt, you were out drinking, weren't you?” He stood up. He was very tall. “So now you're a fucking liar, too. Who were you with?”

  “I'm going to bed.” She tried to step past him and enter the hallway, but he blocked her.

  “You're going to the store. Or to a restaurant. Or you're calling up a restaurant on the phone and having them deliver. Then you're going to tell me where the hell you've been and what you've been doing.”

  “I'm broke,” she said. “And tired. I just want to go to bed.” She retrieved her purse from the table and opened it up, checking to make sure the little knife hadn't somehow disappeared. It stared back up at her, reassuring her.

  “Lemme see,” Cliff ordered.

  She looked over at him, hating him. “What?”

  “Lemme see your purse. You're not broke. You always have something squirreled away. Cough it up, Dianne!”

  “I said I'm going to bed.” She tried to step past him again and again he blocked her, this time bumping her with his bloated stomach.

  “You're going to the store! Or calling the Pizza Palace. Better yet, just give me your credi
t card.” He looked down at her purse and made a grab for it. “Gimme!”

  Dianne pulled it away, fury surging through her. “Leave it alone!”

  “Give it to me! Or call for that pizza!” He straightened up suddenly, thinking it over. “Get me a large, meat-eater special.” He smiled coldly at her. “That way you won't eat any. In fact, get two of them, so I'll have some left over for tomorrow.”

  She took another drink of water and set the glass down on the table. She considered just giving in to him and handing over the credit card. It would be easier than fighting him. If she did that, however, the entire ordeal would be perpetuated. She'd wake up in the exact same mess she was in now, and she didn't know when she'd again find the courage to rectify things. She closed her eyes briefly and pictured Father Frank, trying to draw strength from him. She wanted to end this misery, and she wanted to do it now. “I told you already. I'm going to bed. If you want pizza, go get one on your own.”

  It was obvious Cliff wasn't used to hearing such talk. His face turned red and his jaw muscles bunched as he clenched his teeth. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

  She stared at him, seething with hatred. She was filled with it, overflowing. She tried her best to convert it to courage and stand up to him. “I said, leave me alone. I'm going to bed.”

  “The fuck you are!” He backhanded her across the face, the blow rocking her head hard enough to slam it into the wall. Dizziness overtook her and she almost threw up. She slid to the floor, her legs failing her as she clawed at the plaster. She'd had too much to drink. She wasn't going to be able to do this after all.

  Cliff kicked her while she was on the floor. Then he reached down and grabbed her by the hair, hoisting her up. “Did you forget who you're talking to? You drunk little slut, where the fuck were you all night, anyway?”

  Dianne was fumbling in her purse. The knife was there, it had to be. She'd just seen it a minute ago.