Deviation (2 page)

“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 tendency 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 need 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.”

“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.

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.