Deviation Page 5

  “We both know what he's been doing.”

  “That is untrue!” Stevens shouted. His face turned red and he began breathing very fast. “I don't know what he's been doing! I can only assume, and I think the same goes for you!”

  “Yes, yes. Assume is what I meant.”

  “It had better be. You want to watch your words in regards to this, Father. This is worlds apart from your little drug habit, or your constant drinking.” He looked away for a moment. “Or my drinking, for that matter.” He turned back to Frank. “What McKenzie has been doing... Jesus, Christ, I don't even want to think about it.”

  “So you're splitting.”

  “Of course I'm splitting! If you had any sense, you would be, too! While there's still time!”

  Frank thought it over. “But you don't know anything? You haven't seen him lately?”

  “I've seen the news,” Stevens muttered. “I've been seeing it for years. I don't want to see it anymore.”

  “I've seen the news myself. That doesn't prove anything.”

  Stevens looked at him. “I've seen some of those kids. Not those most recent ones, but some of the ones from years back on the news. I'd seen them here in the church. Before they... went missing.”

  Frank believed him. Stevens was relatively observant. “Yes?”

  “Not all of them, of course. But two or three... over the past several years...”

  “But you've never seen him do anything...”

  “Oh, come on. What kind of man do you take me for? If I'd have seen him do anything like that I'd have called the police immediately. I'm just saying I saw some of those kids... that's all...”

  “When they were still alive.”

  Stevens took an enormously deep breath, his eyes closing briefly. “Yes. While they were still alive.” He looked at Frank. “If he did anything to them, I don't think he did it here. Not in the church. He might have... taken them home... I don't know... I wouldn't know... I don't want to know.”

  Frank took a drink. “You've never heard... never mind.”

  “I never heard anything!”

  Frank knew he was lying. He'd heard the shrill screams coming up through the floors on more than one occasion. Whatever McKenzie had done, he'd done it in the basement. Right here in the church basement.

  “Anyway,” Stevens continued. “I just wanted to let you know I was leaving.”

  “Why now? Why not last year, or the year before?”

  “I told you. I just now managed to secure a position...”

  “You saw something,” Frank accused. “Or heard something.”

  Stevens opened his mouth to argue and then shut it tight, his lips turning white.

  “What was it? Did you figure out a way to get into that fucking vault down there?”

  Lifting his chin, Stevens seemed to smirk at that. “As a matter of fact, I've tried. I've tried several times over the past several years.” He shook his big head. “I couldn't do it, though. The damn thing is impossible.”

  “I know,” Frank agreed. “I've been trying every so often for ten years.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. You've got to admit, it's rather curious.”

  “I'll say.” Father Stevens scoffed. “Curious. Jesus Christ, that's a fucking understatement.”

  Frank sat up straight, stretching his back. “So why now? You must have heard something.”

  Stevens stared at him. He started to speak and then stopped. He was sweating. He wiped his forehead and stared at Frank's bottle of beer. “I don't want to talk about it. I'm just telling you, it would be a good idea to leave.”

  “Is someone down there now? One of these more recent children?”

  “No! I don't mean that at all!”

  “What is it, then?”

  Stevens shook his head. His face was now livid and covered in a sheen of perspiration. “Just...” He threw his hands up in defeat. “I was checking his room, okay? I thought it would be prudent to see if he was in there. He could have died in his sleep for all we know.”

  “Was he in there?”

  “No. But since I broke the lock, I admit, I looked around a little bit. I was... looking for clues. Think what you want, but I was just trying to figure out what happened to him.”

  “It doesn't bother me. I should have thought of it myself.”

  “Anyway, I didn't see too much. I just kind of poked around, feeling uncomfortably nervous. Almost like he was watching me somehow. I would have left, after making sure he wasn't there, but something caught my eye. It looked out of place. I don't know, I just kind of noticed it sitting there on his desk and so I picked it up for a closer inspection.”

  “What was it?”

  Stevens looked at him, his eyes glossy. “It was... a lunchbox. A child's lunchbox.”

  Frank sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “That's it? A lunchbox?”

  “Yes. I opened it.”

  “And?”

  “It was full of teeth.”

  “Teeth?”

  “Children's teeth, I'm assuming. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.”

  “There couldn't have been that many!”

  “There were hundreds, at the very least! Many of them small, and still crusted with old blood. I don't know how many teeth kids have, they probably have at least 25 apiece.”

  Frank frowned. “Why 25?”

  Stevens rubbed his face. “I don't know! I'm estimating! Any way you look at it, there were a lot of teeth.”

  “What did you do with them?”

  “I closed the box and set it back on the desk. And I got the hell out of there.”

  Frank thought about it. “And that's it? That's why you're leaving?”

  “I told you, I've been trying to leave for a long time. I just recently got an offer.”

  “And you've got no idea where McKenzie is now?”

  “None. Although I'm starting to think he's in real trouble. Maybe even dead. Maybe one of the parents...” Stevens shrugged. “I don't know. I can only speculate. The truth is, we'd be better off if he was dead.”

  Frank thought he might be right. “Are you sure you don't know where he is?”

  “Of course I'm sure! I've been calling his cell phone for three days now. It goes right to voice mail, so I'm guessing the battery's dead. I can't take any more of this, Frank. I'm going.”

  “I'll probably be going too, in the next few days.”

  “Really?” Stevens seemed surprised by this.

  “Yes. I think it would be a good idea.”

  “It would be a great idea. Eventually someone is going to get into that vault down there, and I sure as hell wouldn't want to be around when they do. Depending on what they find in there...” He closed his eyes and shook his head again. “Jesus. It will probably make the international news.”

  Frank sighed. He thought he'd better call Lester again.

  7. The Morning After

  When Dianne first awoke, she thought it was from a nightmare. When she opened her eyes and saw the grizzly scene laid out before her, and memories began to resurface through the fog of her hangover, she quickly realized that it had been much more than just a nightmare.

  She gasped at the sight of Cliff's butchered, blood-streaked body. It looked like a prop from a horror movie lying on the couch. She couldn't smell any decomposition yet, but it would be ghastly later on if something wasn't done about it.

  She sat up, her neck stiff and painful from spending the night in the chair. Her head ached fiercely. She gazed down blankly at the little paring knife, which was still clutched in her hand. It was coated with dried blood, as was her hand itself. She spread h
er stiff fingers, allowing the knife to drop to the floor.

  “Jesus,” she croaked. “What the fuck did I do?”

  She forced herself to get up from the chair. Her whole body was throbbing with pain and covered in the residue of the previous night's slaughter. Between the beating she took, the exertion of all her slashing and stabbing and the aftereffects of the alcohol, she could barley remain standing. But she had to. There were some serious decisions that had to be made, and a lot of work to be done.

  Looking down at herself, she groaned miserably. The first thing she needed to do was strip out of her bloody clothes and take a long, hot shower.

  No. The first thing she needed was something to drink. Her mouth and throat were so dry she could barely swallow. She crossed the room and entered the kitchen, doing her best not to look at the mutilated corpse sprawled out on the sofa. She'd have to look at it later, maybe, but not right now.

  There was a bottle of ibuprofen in the kitchen cabinet. With shaky, bloody hands she managed to open it and spill half the bottle onto the floor. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and then dumped out a few more pills into her hand. She dropped the bottle on the floor, not caring, and found a can of soda in the refrigerator. Diet Pepsi. It was Cliff's soda, not one she particularly cared for, but it would have to do. She cracked it open and took a long drink, her entire mouth and throat feeling almost instantly rejuvenated. She popped two of the pills into her mouth and then drank some more soda, washing them down.

  She stood there for a moment, her head reeling. She felt like she was going to vomit. “Oh, shit,” she muttered. “Oh, fucking shit. What the hell am I going to do?”

  She wanted to cry, but there was no time. She wanted to go to bed but knew she couldn't. She felt completely overwhelmed.

  It occurred to her then to just call the police, and tell them what had happened. There was always a chance she wouldn't go to prison. There would be an investigation, of course. And she'd need a lawyer. And even then she still might end up behind bars. The idea of prison caused her to begin trembling and she almost fell over. Even in death, Cliff was torturing her. She braced her arm on the refrigerator and tried to concentrate on her breathing.

  One thing at a time. She needed the blood off of her, right away.

  She carried her soda into the bathroom and began to undress.

  * * *

  After her shower, which lasted for well over half an hour, Dianne felt noticeably better. She'd finished her soda and the ibuprofen seemed to be helping diminish much of the pain. It would come back, she knew, but hopefully not as bad. And she wouldn't have to wake up to that hideous nightmare again. In fact, she thought she might not have to deal with it at all.

  She'd made a decision while in the shower. She was going to go and see Father Frank again and tell him what had happened. He'd know what to do.

  She got dressed into clean clothes, further improving her mood. By the time she reemerged into the living room she felt almost hopeful. As bad as things were right now, at least she didn't have to worry about Cliff hitting her again. Or controlling her. Those problems were finally over.

  She glanced at the clock, amazed to see that it was after ten. She'd assumed it was still early morning. Her boss would be wondering where the hell she was.

  The contents of her purse were still strewn all over the floor. She bent down and began collecting what she needed, including her wallet and her cell phone. After salvaging what she could, and cleaning the worst of the blood off of her phone, she called work and told them she was taking a sick day.

  They didn't like it, but there wasn't much they could do about it. She ended the call and took another quick look around. As she did, an idea came to her. It was more of a precaution, actually. She returned to her bedroom and pulled her large duffel bag out from the back of the closet. For the next fifteen minutes she folded up all her favorite clothes and packed them inside. She took an extra pair of shoes, too, and some other things that she didn't want to lose. When she was finished, the duffel bag was stuffed to capacity. She carried it into the living room and set it near the door, being careful not to step in any blood; some of the larger splatters were still sticky.

  Dianne looked around the room, considering. Something else occurred to her then. She crossed to the windows and opened them up wide, allowing cool air to blow in and circulate throughout the room. She also turned off the radiators. Cliff was still going to rot, and it was still going to stink, but her actions might slow things down a tiny bit. At least until she talked to Frank and made a decision about what to do.

  She put her coat on then, and grabbed her purse. She also unplugged her phone charger and slipped it into her pocket. Near the door she hoisted the duffel bag up off the floor and secured the strap over her shoulder.

  She took one last look at Cliff before she left. She felt terrible about what she'd done, but he hadn't given her much of a choice. She looked away quickly, feeling sick to her stomach. She just wanted to leave.

  A few minutes later she was in her car, driving west.

  8. Reunion

  If possible, the church looked even more foreboding than it had the day before. Dianne hadn't noticed the frayed lengths of old rope hanging from the two deformed trees on the front lawn the first time she'd come by. Walking past them, and not allowing herself to consider their purpose, she climbed up and stood on the warped porch, knocking on the massive plank door and getting the same lack of response. She was about to go ahead and let herself in again when the door suddenly burst open, startling her. A fat priest stood there holding a stack of cardboard boxes. He looked even more startled than she felt. Scared, even.

  “Can I help you?” he asked. He glanced anxiously over her shoulder, scanning the vicinity.

  “Uh... I needed to speak with Father Frank. Is he available?”

  The big priest seemed relieved. He regarded her thoughtfully. “He's inside. Is he expecting you?”

  “I'm not sure. I was here yesterday, and he told me I should come back to see him, if possible.”

  “Oh, well, by all means, come on in. I believe he's in his private quarters, though I'm not certain. Do you know where his room is?”

  “No. But I know where the kitchen is. That's where I spoke to him yesterday.”

  “Alright. Father Edgar Stevens, by the way. Let me just get out of your way with these boxes and you can go look for him.”

  “Thank you.” Dianne stepped aside and allowed Stevens to exit the building. She watched as he made his way carefully down the crumbling walkway and turned toward a black Chevy Blazer. Then she stepped up over the threshold, closing the door softly behind her.

  A sense of deja vu came over her as she stood there in the vast emptiness of the sanctuary. She wasn't frightened this time, at least not of anything or anyone within the church. It felt almost like a safe haven, and after a moment she realized it was probably supposed to. She liked this church, and she liked both of the priests she'd met here. She relaxed and made her way across the room.

  Frank wasn't in the kitchen. She felt a stab of disappointment, but she didn't let it bother her too much. Father Stevens had just told her he was here, and most likely in his room. She simply needed to figure out where that was.

  She spent the next couple of minutes wandering around, looking into various rooms in hopes of finding Father Frank. Some of the doors were closed, and likely locked. After checking all the open rooms near and around the kitchen she headed back into the sanctuary, getting there just as the lobby door opened again and Father Stevens returned.

  He saw her at once. “No luck finding him?”

  “He's not in the kitchen. I don't know where else to look.”

  Stevens closed the door and began walking towar
d the south end of the room. “Come with me. Like I said, I think he's in his quarters.”

  Dianne followed him down a long hallway, feeling almost like she was in a maze. The church was enormous, with more rooms and hallways branching off one another than she could keep track of. When they came to the end of the hall, Father Stevens turned right and slowed down a little.

  “I don't believe I caught your name,” he said, turning his head slightly.

  “Dianne.”

  “Dianne. A lovely name.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We don't get too many visitors here anymore, I'm afraid. The church is not what it used to be.”

  “It's a beautiful church,” she said. “Just a little... unkempt.”

  Stevens laughed without humor. “Yes, it is that. I won't even attempt to deny it.” He stopped in front of a closed door and knocked softly. “Your friend is likely right here. Give him a minute.”

  They both stood there silently, waiting for Frank to answer. After twenty seconds or so he called out through the door. “Who's there?”

  “You've got a visitor,” Stevens said loudly. “A young lady named Dianne.”

  The door opened at once. Father Frank smiled out at her, obviously delighted to see her. “Dianne! How nice that you've returned.”

  She smiled back, feeling very glad she'd come. When was the last time someone had actually smiled upon seeing her? She couldn’t remember. She was suddenly filled with a sense of security and well-being, as if by coming here and finding Frank, everything was guaranteed to be okay. “I was hoping we could... speak again.”

  “We can indeed,” he assured her.

  Father Stevens cleared his throat theatrically. “I'll be leaving in about ten minutes, Frank. Good luck to you.” He held out his hand and they shook, the first time since they'd met, almost a decade earlier.

  “Good luck to you, too, Father. I hope Tampa agrees with you.”