Deviation (13 page)

The odometer in Dianne's Escort turned over to 100,000
miles just as she was making the transition from Interstate 94 to
Interstate 80 outside Tinley Park, Illinois. She took it as a sign
that she'd made the right choice in her decision to leave the city.
She'd been driving for about two hours and was just beginning to
feel the slightest bit restless behind the wheel.

They pulled in for gas and used the restrooms at the
first rest stop they came across. Frank also took the opportunity
to get rid of the empty beer cans and dig the cocaine out from his
luggage.

As they pulled back out into traffic, Dianne watched
him studying the powder through the bag.

“I sure hope I don't get pulled over,” she
said. “They'd have a field day going through your things.”

“It's unlikely,” Frank answered. He
opened the bag and took a small pinch of coke between his thumb and
index finger. “Would you like to try a little?”

“Thank you, but no.”

“Maybe later,” he suggested. “There's
quite a bit here. Enough to last us both for a good long time.”
He raised his hand to his nose and snorted the cocaine from between
his fingers.

Dianne was watching from the corner of her eye.
“Especially if I don't use any.”

“There'd be no fun in that.” He held up
the baggie. “You sure you don't want to try some?”

“I'm sure. Like I said, I've tried it before.
It just makes me feel shaky, like I've had way too much coffee.”

“Fair enough.” He twisted the end of the
bag and slipped a rubber band around it. “Maybe you're in the
mood for something more natural?”

Dianne laughed. “What's the longest you've ever
gone without any drugs at all?”

Frank thought about it. “Including alcohol?”

“Either way.”

“Not long. Sobriety just doesn't feel right to
me.” He stashed the coke in the glove compartment and pulled
the smaller bag of weed from his pocket. “It makes me feel
hollow somehow. Like my soul has died.”

“Do you believe you have a soul?”

“Not necessarily. It's just the way I feel when
I'm completely sober. I feel terrible. I would imagine it's some
sort of medical issue. Depression, perhaps. Or schizophrenia.
Maybe both.” He found his rolling papers and began assembling
a joint.

“There are pills you can take for that,”
Dianne suggested.

“Yes, I know. Man-made pills that don't really
work and cause horrifying side effects.”

“Are all your drugs really any better?”

“They're a bit more natural, perhaps.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Meth?”

“I don't want to live forever, Dianne.”
He licked the edge of the rolling paper and sealed it up. “That
would be the ultimate curse.”

“I suppose.”

Frank put away his baggie and lit the joint. He took
a hit and offered it to Dianne. “This is as natural as you
can get.”

She smiled and accepted it. “I've got nothing
against herbs,” she admitted.

They passed it back and forth until they were both
very stoned, and then Frank pinched the end of the cigarette between
his fingers and set it in the ashtray for later. He also rolled his
window down some more to allow the smoke to disperse.

“Any idea where we should go yet?” Dianne
asked. She slowed down and switched over to the right lane; her
motor skills had become noticeably impaired.

“Any place you'd like. But I think we ought to
travel for at least a day or two. Put some distance between us and
Wisconsin.”

She nodded. There was an exit up ahead for Joliet,
Illinois. A town she'd never see, or want to see. There were
thousands of them, all over the country. It would be easy to get
lost within the midst of them all. “I'll just keep driving
for awhile.”

“Let me know if you get tired of it.”

“Give me another hour or two. Maybe when we get
through Illinois you could take the wheel.”

“Alright.”

“What state is west of here, anyway? I'm not
even sure.”

“I believe that would be Iowa.”

“Okay. You can take over when we reach Iowa.”

“I'll be ready,” he promised.

“Would you like a tuna sandwich? I brought --”

Suddenly there was an odd chirping sound within the
car. Dianne glanced around, fearfully, thinking it was the car
itself undergoing some type of electrical mishap. Then Frank
reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. She relaxed.
Just as she was about to laugh at herself, the look on Frank's face
as he glanced at his phone stopped her.

“What's wrong?”

He turned to her as the phone rang again. “This
can't be good.”

She stared back. “Who is it?”

“It's Pastor McKenzie.”

* * *

Despite never having met the man, Dianne still grew
nervous at the mention of his name. “Are you going to answer
it?”

The phone rang a third time. “I suppose I ought
to. If I don't, I'll always wonder.” He pressed the call
button and held the phone to his face just as scattered raindrops
began to strike the windshield. He noticed the sky had grown cloudy
and that the sun was no longer visible; an unsettling coincidence.
“Hello.”

“Frank,” said the familiar voice over the
phone. He felt a chill. “Where the hell are you?”

“I could ask you the same question, Pastor.”

“I'm here, at St. Paul's,” McKenzie
replied. There was a trace of anger in his voice, but then there
usually was. “You and Stevens both seem to be missing.”

“As were you, Pastor. We didn't know what had
become of you.”

“Never mind that. Where are you? Where is
Stevens?”

The rain began to fall harder, and Dianne switched on
the windshield wipers. Frank watched them go back and forth,
smearing water over the dirty glass.

“I'm taking a little vacation.”

“Now? I need you back here, Frank.”

“I'm afraid that's impossible right now.”

“It's not impossible. I need you to get back
here right away. There are... things I need to discuss with you.”

“We can discuss them over the phone.”

“We can't! I need you here.”

“I've left the state, Pastor. I don't know when
I'll be coming back.”

There was a
disgusted sigh over the phone. He could imagine McKenzie pacing
back and forth in his room, his free hand clenched into a fist.
“You'll be coming back
now
.
This is important.”

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

Silence. Then McKenzie laughed quietly. “What
makes you ask that?”

“Is it an unreasonable assumption?”

“What's this corpse doing in the basement,
Frank? Is this your doing?”

“I'm not sure what you're talking about.”

“Bullshit. Where is Stevens? Is he with you?”

Frank didn't feel he owed Stevens any favors, but he
certainly wasn't going to hand him over just like that. “He's
not with me. He told me he was leaving.”

“Did he mention where?”

“No.”

“I don't believe you. He must have told you
something.”

“He didn't say a word.”

“You're lying.”

“No, Pastor. He didn't say and I didn't ask.
It was no concern of mine.”

“The two of you just happened to leave at the
same time. Am I supposed to believe that's a coincidence?”

“Of course not. We left because you were
missing. A survival instinct, I suppose. We went our separate
ways. But I may return at some point. Like I said, I'm taking a
vacation.”

“Where?”

“I'm headed to Vermont. Give me a week or two
to unwind and perhaps I'll head back.”

“Unwind from what? Getting fucked up and
sleeping it off? Get your ass back here, Frank. I need your help
and I need it now.”

“Sorry, Pastor.”

“Frank! I'm not asking you!”

“My cell phone is almost dead, Pastor. Let me
call you back in a day or two.”

“Frank!”

Frank ended the call and immediately powered off his
phone. He settled back in the seat, his heart racing.

Dianne was gripping the steering wheel with both
hands, her expression unreadable. “Is everything okay?”

“I don't know. He wasn't about to admit what
was going on over the phone. Like I told you, he's not stupid.”

“Do you want me to turn around? Take you back?”

“Of course not. This is precisely why I wanted
to leave.” He reached into the back seat and came up with two
cans of Pabst. “Would you like a beer?”

“Not right now. I'm so fucked up I can barely
see.” She turned a knob to speed up the windshield wipers.
The rain was really coming down now.

Frank set one of the beers into the cup holder and
opened the other. He took a long drink. “Nothing has
changed, Dianne. Forget about that call. All it tells me is that I
made the right decision in leaving. I believe that things are about
to turn very ugly back home.”

Decked out in his full Pastor regalia, including a
long, dark robe, Douglas McKenzie strode quickly through the
well-lit aisles of Wal-Mart's automotive department. He turned a
corner, almost bumping into a display of car batteries, and hurried
on, muttering under his breath.

“Son of a bitch. Every time I come in here,
they've got everything all changed around. I'm getting good and
sick of it.”

He turned again and marched past a pyramid of motor
oil, finally locating the rows of toys and games. He slowed a bit,
his eyes busy scanning each aisle in search of what he needed.

“I'm in no mood to be choosy,” he
whispered to himself. “I just want to get the hell out of
here without any difficulties.”

His thin black hair was slicked back on his head, the
color matching his robe perfectly. A woman glanced up at him as she
was waiting for her young son to finish choosing an elaborate water
pistol. She smiled and he nodded, moving on.

There were several kids in the area. The problem was,
they were all with their parents. He strode away, cursing, heading
toward the home and garden center. He'd give it a few minutes and
circle back around.

“Fucking little douche-bags are more trouble
than they're worth. There ought to be a place where a man can get
his hands on one without so much fuss and bother.”

He spent a moment feigning interest in hoses and
nozzles, feeling the eyes of the other shoppers scrutinizing him.
It had probably been a mistake to wear his collar and robe. It lent
him an air of holiness and trust, but at the same time it caused him
to stand out excessively. He put it out of his mind and moved
along, examining the prices beneath bags of peat moss.

Pastor McKenzie had had a very bad week.

It had started with a phone call from a Detective Mike
Burlington. He was investigating the disappearance of Tyler Simms,
who'd been missing since the previous July. Little Tyler's father
was a local alderman and was putting a lot of pressure on the police
department to come up with a viable lead in the case. Burlington
had taken McKenzie in for questioning, as the Simms family had
attended services at St. Paul's only two days before Tyler's
disappearance. It was a long shot, and there was absolutely no
physical evidence connecting McKenzie to any crime, but Burlington
was being pushed into action and had no other suspects to harass and
so was focusing solely on McKenzie. They'd gotten into a small
argument and the next thing McKenzie knew the asshole detective was
threatening to apply for a search warrant. It was unlikely a judge
would issue one, considering the complete lack of evidence or
motive, but with Simms throwing his weight around it wasn't
impossible.

McKenzie had left the police department in a fury. He
could feel his world beginning to unravel; it was just a matter of
time. He'd spent the next few days at his Shorewood home, drinking
himself sick and trying to decide whether or not to bother cleaning
out his massive vault. If the police did obtain a warrant they'd
discover the vault for sure, and when they opened it, which they'd
eventually manage to do, it would be all over for him.

He'd finally come to the conclusion that he had no
other choice but to try and clean it out. It was going to be a
nightmare job. The vault was a treasure trove of torture devices
and the decomposing bodies of dozens of children. Many of them were
nothing but skeletons now, although some of their heads and other
assorted body parts were preserved in massive jars of formaldehyde.
There was also a full library of photographs and VHS tapes. He'd
enjoyed his barbaric merriment over the years and was proud of all
his trophies. They meant a lot to him.

The task of cleaning it out was going to be a
monumental one, and without the help of Frank or Edgar Stevens there
was no way he'd be able to move some of the larger pieces of
equipment.

Not that he'd have been able to trust them with it
anyhow. He thought he might have been able to blackmail them into
helping and then kill them afterward, but they had both fled and he
was left holding his own festering bag.

“Fuckers,” he cursed. He abandoned the
peat moss and made his way back toward the toy aisles. He was going
to treat himself to a fresh child. It was the only thing he could
think of that would lift this shroud of gloom that the world had
thrown over him.

It would be dangerous, of course; more dangerous than
ever with Burlington on the prowl. But fuck Burlington and fuck the
consequences. Douglas McKenzie had never run away or backed down
from anyone or anything.

He craved a child and by god he was going to get one.

There.

Over by the Lego's.

A blonde boy of perhaps six or seven, studying the
boxes gleefully. No parent or guardian anywhere in sight.

McKenzie marched directly up to him, his long robe
billowing out behind him. He was well practiced at this and knew
how to appeal to kids.

He smiled warmly as the young boy noticed his approach
and glanced up at him. “Hi there, partner!” He
crouched low, looking the boy in the eyes. “Do you remember
me?”

The boy took a small step back, not sure what was
going on. He looked around nervously.

“It's okay if you don't,” he continued.
“I'm good friends with your dad. Did he tell you about the
surprise party?”

The boy stared at him, offering no response.

“No? Well, I didn't think so! It wouldn't be
much of a surprise if he did that, would it?” He feigned a
merry laugh. He had to act quickly before someone turned the corner
and saw him. “Your dad asked me to come and get you. Are you
ready for an exciting birthday party?”

A look of interest on the boy's face. “Whose
birthday?”

“Timmy. You remember Timmy?”

The boy shook his head.

“From school. Anyway, your dad is waiting. You
ready to go?”

He looked around, obviously troubled. “Where's
mom?”

“She's waiting in the car. Let's not keep her
waiting.”

Suddenly he turned back to the Lego's. “But she
said I could get one! She promised!”

“She already got you one, slugger. In fact she
got two. Let's go out to the car and see which ones she got.”
Without waiting for a reply, McKenzie scooped the boy up in his
arms and began hurrying toward the front of the store. The little
fellow smelled like apple juice and fruit striped gum, and he began
to feel very aroused.

“Who are you?” the boy asked, squirming
around.

“I told you. A friend of your dad. You can
call me Uncle Doug.”

“Uncle Doug. I never heard of you.”

“Well, you have now.”

“Why are you wearing a dress?”

McKenzie walked on. He was feeling better already.

“You'll find out soon enough.”