Deviation Read online

  The room was silent as Dianne considered the question. She realized that she'd never in her life really considered what she wanted. “It's kind of pointless, though,” she concluded. “I could never do what I really want to anyway.”

  “Stop shitting on yourself, Dianne.”

  She looked at him, feeling slightly offended. “I didn't realize I was.”

  “You are. And I know you well enough by now to know that you're better than that. Far better. You're one of the most capable people I've ever met. You're young and you're free and you have your whole life ahead of you, and the world is yours. And you're telling me you want to wake up in the morning and spend your day sitting in front of a computer monitor, typing in endless lines of information that have absolutely no meaning to you, in exchange for what? Twelve dollars an hour?”

  She frowned. “Ten fifty.”

  Frank laughed. “Come on now. What do you really want?”

  Dianne drained her beer. “Another Pabst.”

  “That's the spirit!” Frank got up at once and brought them each another can. Once they were opened and they each took another drink, he leaned forward and studied her. “Anything, Dianne. What do you want from this life? From this world? It's a question very few people ask themselves, unless it's already too late. For you it's not late at all. For you it's just the beginning. You can really live.”

  She took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. “For the sake of answering the question honestly, I guess what I really want is to just do whatever the hell I feel like doing at the time. All the time.”

  Frank was grinning. “Keep going. I was afraid you might tell me you wanted to be a lawyer.”

  “Hell no! I suppose I wouldn't really want a job at all. Or that shitty little apartment. If it's really my world, I think I'd like to see it. Not just go home to the same four walls each day, but really see it. Travel. All over the place. See what there is to see, and do whatever I want.” She sipped her beer. “I've been rooted to the same spot for 26 years, and I think it sucks.”

  “You're finally being honest with yourself.”

  “That's true, but it's still not realistic. I'd need money, and I don't have any. To get it I need to work, so my crappy job downtown is still going to be necessary. So is my shitty apartment, and right now there's a dead body in it.”

  “You're tying a rope around your own neck. Forget the body. And forget money. Did the Indians need money when they traveled the country on horseback, doing whatever they damn well pleased?”

  “Probably not. But there was nothing to buy. Or rent to pay. Or health insurance.”

  “Fuck health insurance. Open your mind.”

  She took another long drink of beer, regarding him casually. “Maybe it's time for the Wild Turkey again.”

  Frank sat up straight. “Would you really like some?”

  “I think so. I'm kind of hungry, too.”

  “That's good, Dianne. Tell me what you want. I'll show you, we can make it happen.”

  “Maybe just some of that bourbon for now.”

  “What about a little meth? Are you up for it yet?”

  Dianne smiled. “You're crazy. You know that, right?”

  Frank's expression was very solemn. “I'm glad I met you, Dianne. But your perception is a little bit skewed. You've become accustomed to crazy. I'm very much sane.”

  She took another long drink. “I'm glad I met you too, Father. But I'm starting to think you might be a bad influence.”

  “Bad influence indeed. I'm going to save you, Dianne. I promise you that. If it's the last thing I ever do, I'm going to save you.”

  His words soothed her. Was he really offering to protect her? It almost seemed like too much. “Thank you, Father.”

  “You're welcome. Now why don't you think about what you want for lunch, or dinner, and I'll go and get my pipe. In the meantime...” He got up and fetched the bourbon from the cabinet, setting it on the table in front of her. “Help yourself.”

  10. Plans

  An hour later they had the bourbon down to the dregs and cartons of Chinese food in front of them, Dianne using a fork and Frank a pair of chopsticks he'd retrieved from a kitchen drawer. They'd called and gotten the food delivered, and when someone began pounding on the door Frank had at first thought it was Lester; he had no idea when Lester was coming; but it was only the Chinese being delivered, and they sat at their table and passed the bourbon back and forth, eating.

  Frank was getting worried about Lester. The man was due to deliver a staggering quantity of drugs to the church at any time that day, whenever it was convenient for him, and Frank had no way of paying for them. There was no use telling Lester to wait until tomorrow, because he wouldn't have the money then, either. He'd never have the money. He had only $726 dollars in his checking account and $132 in his wallet. The drugs were going to cost over $6,000.

  There was going to have to be some other way of dealing with Lester. He knew there was no time to put off thinking about it, but he was having such a wonderful time with Dianne that he didn't want to dwell on it any more than he absolutely had to.

  “How's that chicken?” she asked, pausing to take a small sip of bourbon.

  “Good.” He held out the carton. “Try some.”

  Dianne leaned forward and stabbed her fork into his Garlic Chicken. It wasn't something she'd normally have the courage to do, but she was fairly drunk. She smiled and pulled the fork out, sitting back in her chair and scarfing down the sample. It had been almost 24 hours since she'd eaten and she was feeling ravenous.

  “Good?” he asked her.

  “It's wonderful!”

  “See?” He'd already tried some of her Spicy Shrimp. “They're both good. It was a good idea.” He rubbed his face and began picking at an imaginary scab, feeling the need for a hit of meth. Dianne had declined to smoke again and he felt awkward smoking it in front of her. He thought of asking again now, but he didn't want to become tedious.

  “What do you do when you run out of Wild Turkey?” she asked, sliding the dead bottle toward him.

  “Are you saying you want more to drink?”

  She smiled. “Maybe just a little. I know I'll regret it in the morning, but after what I just went through I think I kind of deserve it.”

  “Maybe you deserve a little taste of meth, as well.”

  She glared at him. It was obvious she didn't like the idea. “No thank you. I really don't want to try that.”

  He picked up the bottle and shook it. Nothing but a sip of backwash. He returned it to the table and sat up, trying to think of what else he had tucked away. He got up from his chair and went to the refrigerator, ducking inside and coming up with two bottles of Irish Stout. He used a bottle opener from the drawer to open them and brought them back to the table. “I know St. Patrick's day is over, but I've still got some good stout here.”

  Dianne grabbed a bottle right away. “I love dark beer! Oh, this is perfect!”

  They drank their beer and ate, and Frank spent a few minutes trying to work out some type of plan for dealing with Lester. He wanted to ask Dianne for her input, but wasn't sure it would be a good idea to involve her. It was obvious she had no interest in drugs, at least not meth.

  “What are you thinking about?” she finally asked him, setting her empty food container aside.

  Frank looked over at her. He shrugged. “Problems of my own.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  He took a drink of beer. “Oh, I've got quite an assortment.” He decided to share this particular problem with her and see what she thought. “I've got a drug dealer stopping by later today to make a delivery, and I've got no way of paying him. Not the full amount, anyway.”

>   Dianne frowned. “More meth?”

  “Meth. Weed. Cocaine. I'm attempting to stock up a bit.”

  “Weed?” She smiled drunkenly at him. “You smoke meth and weed? Aren't they practically opposites?”

  “Well, maybe. I don't normally use them together.”

  “God, I haven't smoked weed in years.”

  Frank perked up at the news. “Would you like to?”

  She took a sip of beer. “I don't know. Kind of. But... shouldn't we be thinking about how we're going to deal with our problems? I've still got that dead body...”

  “Forget the dead body.” Frank leaned toward her, setting his food aside. “What do you say we get stoned? I mean, really fucking blasted? It seems to have a way of...” He gestured absently. “...helping things come together in one's mind. Maybe it will help us decide what to do.”

  Dianne was grinning. “You don't have to rationalize on my account. If you really have some weed, sure, I'll smoke a little.” She laughed quietly “When I first spoke to you yesterday, I was trying to figure out if you were a strange priest or not. I honestly couldn't tell, but I was kind of leaning toward strange. I don't think there's any doubt now. I can't believe I'm going to smoke dope with a priest.”

  Frank nodded. “Yes, I suppose some people might consider me a bit strange. Imagine doing what you want to do, rather than what you're expected to do. It may be criminal at times, despite the fact that god himself --”

  “I didn't mean to offend you,” Dianne interrupted.

  “No, no,” Frank said, shaking his head. “I'm not offended. I suppose I'm simply justifying my behavior. You have to understand, Dianne, that I take the word of god very seriously. That is, of course, if there was any word of god. If he ever speaks to me, I'm all ears. But until then I'm assuming I'm free to do as I please, and the laws of these ridiculous pigs in their boyscout uniforms and government issue badges have absolutely no influence over me whatsoever. If that's strange, then so be it. But in all honesty, I find it far stranger to live out your entire life as if it's some sort of act for the benefit of society. If I'm not doing what I want to do, who am I living for?”

  “I said I'm sorry!” She was still smiling.

  Frank took a long drink of beer. “Accepted.”

  “You've really got a problem with authority, don't you?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, you seem to denounce all rules and laws, no matter why they exist. Like they were put in place with the sole intention of pissing you off.”

  “Yes. I fully admit, I detest authority. I don't believe anyone has the so-called right to force anyone else to live by rules that they themselves invented. It goes completely against nature.”

  “I suppose that's true.”

  “It is true. It's why so many sociopaths hold positions of power. Like I told you before, it's all a game. If everyone stopped playing, the sociopaths at the top would cease to have control. Society is nothing but a house of cards, and I refuse to allow everyone else's delusions to shape my reality.”

  Dianne tried to stop grinning and found she couldn't. “I like you, Frank.”

  “I like you too. I'll go and get my weed. Would you like to use my pipe, or would you prefer a joint?”

  She giggled and drank from her bottle. “Why don't I come with you? We can smoke it in your room.”

  Looking suddenly nervous, Frank nodded. “If you'd like. Are you sure you wouldn't rather smoke it here?”

  “I don't know.” She looked around the little room. “We're inside this huge, beautiful old church and all I ever really see is this modern break-room. I'd kind of like to see something else.”

  “Alright. Perhaps the sanctuary...”

  Dianne laughed again. “What's the matter, Father? Aren't you allowed to have a girl in your room?”

  He settled back in his chair. “Absolutely. I'm just not sure why you'd want to go there.”

  “I'm not sure, either. It was just an idea.”

  “Are you interested in seeing the architecture, or do you have an affinity toward middle-aged priests?”

  “You really don't seem like a priest to me.”

  “Oh? What do I seem like?”

  “Actually, you remind me of a guy I dated in college. He was a doper, always worrying about his next score. He hated cops, too. He carried a little pipe in his pocket, like you do. He could make one out of anything. Once I saw him make one out of a pen.”

  “Oh, that's easy,” Frank assured her. “Once I made one out of an acorn.”

  She was grinning happily. “I doubt he could have done that.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, thinking things over. There were the beginnings of a sexual tension hanging in the air between them and they were both fully aware of it.

  Dianne drank some more stout. “So do you want to smoke some weed with me?”

  “Of course. It was my idea.” Frank drained his beer and stood up. “Let's go to my room. I think you'll like it.”

  * * *

  Dianne did like the room. She walked through it, smiling, touching things and asking questions. Frank tolerated it and even found it amusing. It had been years since he'd had a woman in his room.

  “Where are we going to sit?” she asked, glancing over at the single chair in front of Frank's desk.

  He gestured to the bed. “I always smoke cannabis in bed. I'm not sure why that is.”

  Dianne laughed. “You think I'm going to climb into your bed that easily?”

  “Oh, no. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to proposition you. I really do smoke it in bed. Just sitting on the bed would do. Unless you'd like to smoke in one of the classrooms?”

  “No, this is fine.” She walked over and took a seat on the bed. She'd left her purse in the kitchen but she brought along her bottle of beer.

  “I'm glad you like it.”

  “I love it. I've never been in a place like this before. It's kind of like an efficiency in an old run-down building, but it's better than that because it's actually a church.”

  “Yes. My thoughts exactly.” He sat down beside her on the bed and lifted his bible from the bedside table.

  Dianne watched him, taking a sip of beer. “Are you going to read me a sermon before we smoke?”

  Frank opened the book and removed his baggie and pipe. “Not at all.” He still had a lighter in his pocket from earlier. He shook open the bag and proceeded to pack a small bowl.

  Dianne was gaping at the hollowed-out bible, not sure she was comprehending what she saw. She reached out and ran one finger along the shredded edges of the butchered pages. “Did you... do this?”

  “Of course. Who else would have?”

  She stared at him with growing unease. “Isn't that... sacrilegious?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “It's a bible! The word of god! I thought you held it sacred.” She looked almost shocked.

  Frank tore up a small bud and pressed it into the pipe, shaking his head. “God didn't write the bible, Dianne. God didn't write anything, to the best of my knowledge.”

  “But... then... who wrote it?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? It was written by people who lied about their identities. It's a book of lies written by people who lied about who they were.”

  She watched him press another small clump into the pipe. “How do you know? I always thought...”

  “It's relatively common knowledge. Scholars even have a word for it. Pseudepigrapha. If you take a college course in bible study, you'll learn this term. It means 'writing inscribed with lies.'”

  “But... the bible!”

  “Yes, the bible.” Frank rolled up the baggie and stuffed it
back into the book. Then he closed it and set it aside. “It would be virtually impossible for anyone with common sense to mistake the bible for truth. Everything in it contradicts everything else. I hope god is punishing those who wrote it. I certainly would.” He handed Dianne the pipe and the lighter. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  She nodded, her expression still stark. “I had no idea.”

  “You'll get over it. It must have occurred to you that there are countless religions and that they each have their own holy book. All the books are different. Were they written by an assortment of gods? Of course not. They were written by man, and as I've already told you, I don't take the word of man seriously. Man is a shit beetle, and his words have no value to me.”

  Dianne finally tore her eyes away from the bible and put the stem of the pipe in her mouth. She sparked the lighter and took an enormous hit, almost too much to hold. She coughed slightly, smoke coming out her nostrils, and then got herself under control, holding her breath and passing the pipe to Frank.

  “It's pretty good stuff,” he said, taking the pipe. “A few hits of this and we'll really be brainstorming.” He took a deep drag and then handed it back to Dianne.

  When Dianne exhaled, she tilted her chin up and blew the smoke out at the ceiling. “I can't believe I never heard any of this before. Why don't more people know about it?”

  Frank also exhaled. “You didn't really think god sat down one day and typed up this long, complicated series of nonsensical stories and sloppy essays, did you?”

  “I guess I never really thought about it.”

  “No one does. That's the problem. It's why it keeps perpetuating.”

  “I guess so.” She held the pipe to her lips and drew another hit.

  “It's not just the bible, either. It's not just religion, for that matter. The entire world is plagued by lies. The governments, the schools, almost all societies. There might be a few ancient tribes out there in the Amazon, still uninfluenced by the rest of the world, but for the most part it's everywhere. And even those tribes probably base some of their reality on lies, although they likely refer to them as myths. It's the same thing. You've got to be very careful what you believe.”