Deviation (20 page)

Frank looked at Dianne. “What
do you think?”

She smiled. “I think we
can spare a little.”

Don's face lit up at the news.
“That would be great! I promise, I won't make any trouble.”

Don's father bellowed mightily
behind his gag, jerking his hands back and forth behind his back. He
shook his head like a rabid dog, his eyes red with fury.

“I don't think your father
approves,” Frank said.

“Of course he doesn't. He
doesn’t approve of anything.” He looked to Dianne again.
“Please? Just a few hits?”

“It's fine with me.”
She turned to Frank. “Do you happen to have a joint handy,
Father?”

“What do you think?”
He pulled one from behind his ear, causing Don's father to begin
screaming behind his muzzle.

Don, on the other hand, looked
as happy as could be.

* * *

After tending to their
prisoners, Dianne and Frank spent several hours just lounging around
the house, snooping through drawers and cabinets and trying to amuse
themselves. They ate a light lunch of cheese and crackers and then
Dianne spent some time in the kitchen, preparing an enormous pan of
chicken parmesan for dinner. She took her time doing it,
appreciating all the quality ingredients and the wide variety of
cooking utensils. It depressed her a little to know she wouldn't be
staying much longer. There would be other houses, though, and other
kitchens. She couldn't allow herself to get too attached to any one
place.

Once dinner was made she covered
it with foil and slid it into the oven, leaving it turned off for the
time being. She entered the living room and sat down on the couch
beside Frank. The two of them were still trying to figure out how to
manipulate the remote controls.

“Any luck?” she
asked.

“Not yet.” Frank
was taking a break from the TV and helping himself to a pinch of
cocaine. He was getting into it on an almost hourly basis and seemed
to have developed more of an affinity toward getting high, too. He
put the coke away and pulled out a joint while Dianne took over with
the remotes.

“Toke?” he asked,
offering it to her.

She accepted happily. “Thank
you. Don't mind if I do.” After taking a single hit she
handed it back and tried a new combination of buttons. Abruptly, the
channel changed. “Hey! Look at this!”

“I knew you'd get it.”

“It took me long enough.
Let's see now. I feel like finding some news.” She flipped
rapidly though the channels, pausing to take another hit when Frank
passed her the joint. “They've got hundreds of channels.
There's got to be some news here somewhere.”

After a few moments she managed
to find the news. She turned the volume up and put the remote aside.
There was a story on about a high school kid in Toledo who'd brought
a small arsenal to class and killed seven of his fellow students, one
teacher and the assistant principal. She settled back on the couch,
getting comfortable.

They passed the joint back and
forth, both of them also drinking beer. They were pretty well
buzzed. When Frank felt like they'd had enough to smoke, he put the
joint out and set it in a makeshift ashtray which had, until very
recently, been a collector teacup. “Any thoughts on when you'd
like to move on?” he asked.

She looked at him, her
comfortable mood slipping just a bit. “Not today.”

“No. Of course not. I'm
just curious how long you'd like to stay, that's all.”

“At least another day.
Another night.” She took a drink of beer, waiting for his
response.

“I'm a little concerned
about the phones,” he admitted. Various cell phones had been
ringing throughout the house over the course of the past 24 hours,
and they'd finally answered a couple of them, disguising their voices
and feigning illness. It would probably work for a little while
longer, but eventually their captives would be significantly missed
and investigations would ensue. They couldn't stay too much longer
whether they wanted to or not.

“We're probably better off
answering them and groaning with misery. That way nobody will come
by.”

“Maybe. But I worry they
may catch on if we say something inappropriate.”

Dianne sighed. “We'll
leave tomorrow. How's that?”

“That's fine.”

“Monday at the latest.”

“I think tomorrow --”

“Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow
for sure.”

“I think it would be
best.”

She sat mulling it over for a
few minutes. As much as she liked the little house she'd chosen, it
made good sense to leave. “Where will we go?”

“Anywhere you want. We
don't even have to leave the state.”

She nodded. They continued to
sip their beer. It took almost 20 minutes for the news station to
get around to the story she was waiting for, and when they finally
did she was somewhat disappointed. There were some further details
regarding what had gone on in years past within St. Paul's basement,
including identities of several of the children, or, more
specifically, their remains. But Pastor McKenzie was still at large
and the authorities had no current leads as to his whereabouts.
Anyone who might see him was advised to consider him armed and
dangerous and to alert the police immediately. The same picture of
Frank was shown again, and once more it was pointed out that he was
wanted for questioning.

“Where do you suppose your
boss disappeared to?” Dianne asked, lowering the volume.

The report had a detrimental
effect on Frank. He looked thoroughly depressed. “I wish I
knew.”

“You're not worried, are
you?”

“A little. Maybe.”

“There's no way he could
know where you are. It's not possible.”

“I'm sure Stevens probably
thought the same thing.”

“I wish you wouldn't let
it bother you. Even if he does show up here, or anywhere else we go,
we can take care of him.”

A slight smile from Frank. “We
can, can't we?”

“Yes.”

“I like your self
assurance.”

“I got it from you.”

He glanced around the room
absently, as if looking for something.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes. I'm just in the
mood for a little bourbon.”

Dianne stood up. “I think
it's in the kitchen. Would you mind if I had some, too?”

Now Frank looked almost happy.
“That would be wonderful. Let's kill the bottle.”

They ate well that night, and shared some of their dinner with the
family who owned the house. Their last name, according to the stack
of mail Frank brought in from the porch, was Brenner. Donnie and Kim
Brenner ate their chicken parmesan as if it was their last meal, but
Stewart Brenner refused to take a single bite. He did drink some
water, but had to be gagged immediately after when he began to thrash
around and growl at the sight of his son being given a can of beer
and another joint. It amused Frank to corrupt the boy in front of
his father, especially since Don himself seemed to enjoy it. They
were each given a brief turn in the bathroom and then were once again
secured for the night. Dianne improved their outlook a great deal
when she informed them that her and Frank would be leaving the next
day and that they'd be free to resume their normal routine. It was
still unclear how they'd be persuaded not to call the police, but
there would be time to work that out later.

When they returned to the master bedroom, they were both very drunk.
Frank slipped his gun beneath the mattress, his customary habit
since acquiring the house.

“I'm going to miss this place,” he confessed, pulling
Dianne toward him in the bed. “It just might be the nicest
home I've ever had.”

“Me too,” she agreed. She reached beneath the sheets
with one playful hand. “The company's not bad, either.”

* * *

They slept deeply and drunkenly for several hours. It was somewhere
between 2:00 and 2:30 in the morning when an unfamiliar noise woke
Dianne. She opened her eyes, her head thick with booze and sleep,
and failed to hear anything further. She fell asleep again for two
or three minutes and was just beginning to snore softly when the
bedroom door swung open and a menacing figure entered the room.

The next thing she knew, someone was grabbing her arm and slipping a
steel manacle over her wrist.

* * *

It took a moment for her mind to realize what was happening. When
it did, she sat bolt upright in bed, her left arm handcuffed to the
iron frame. She jerked on it, roughly, almost desperately as she
began to panic. It was so totally unexpected she didn't know what
else to do.

“Forget it,” a deep voice commanded from off to her
left. “There's no getting out of them.”

Frank, who had been sleeping peacefully, woke up and realized with a
start that something was seriously wrong. Before he could react,
Douglas McKenzie grabbed him roughly by the hair and dragged him from
the bed.

“Rise and shine, Frank. Your vacation is over.”

Frank staggered and almost fell over. McKenzie took hold of his arm
and forced him upright, at the same time twisting the arm behind his
back. Frank yelled out in pain and tried to fight him off, but to no
avail.

“Jesus Christ, Frank. You're younger than me. See where your
sedentary lifestyle has gotten you?”

“What the fuck do you want?” Frank spat. He was wearing
only a pair of boxer shorts and was badly hungover. In fact, he was
still half drunk. He thought to go for his gun, but it was well out
of reach. “You've got nothing to gain by killing me.”

McKenzie tightened his grip and forced Frank's arm up even higher.
“How would you know?” He led Frank closer to the doorway
and away from the bed. McKenzie was dressed in his pastor's robe and
in the dim light Frank thought he could see bloodstains on it. He
thought he could see blood on McKenzie's hands and face, too. “We've
got some things to discuss, Frank old boy. Surely you didn't think
you were done with me.”

Dianne pulled forcefully at her restraints again, the steel cuff
biting into her wrist. “Please don't hurt him,” she
pleaded. She'd never felt so terrified and helpless, not even while
being brutalized by Cliff. “Please! I'll do anything.”

McKenzie smiled at her in the near darkness. “I'll keep that
in mind. You stay put for now. I have a few things to discuss with
you, too, when Frank and I are finished.”

“Please!” she shouted, pulling again at the cuffs. She
met Frank's eyes and saw a shadow of hopelessness there. It
frightened her and angered her at the same time. Then she saw that
McKenzie had a knife in his hand. As she watched, he jabbed Frank in
the ribs with it, causing him to jump forward, his arm still twisted
behind his back.

“Let's go, Frank. It's time for you to pay for your sins.”
He led Frank out the door, the two of them disappearing into the
darkness beyond.

Dianne stared after them, her heart pounding in her chest.

* * *

The Brenner garage was so well equipped with tools and woodworking
supplies that there was no room left over for a vehicle. Shelves of
power tools lined two of the walls and there were three sawhorses set
up in the center of the room with the beginnings of what appeared to
be a homemade bureau arranged across them. There was also a large
workbench complete with a drill press and a band saw. McKenzie led
Frank to the workbench and produced another pair of handcuffs from
the pocket of his robe. He had to clamp the knife between his teeth
for a moment as he first slipped one end of the cuffs over Frank's
wrist and the other over the support column of the drill press.

“That ought to hold you for now,” he remarked, removing
the knife from his mouth and setting it aside.

Frank's mind was working furiously, trying to come up with some way
out of this current mess. It still didn't make sense to him how
McKenzie had managed to find him, or even why. “What do you
hope to gain from this, Pastor? It seems to me to be a pointless
endeavor.”

“Revenge is never pointless, Frank. You should know that.”
He was looking around at all the power tools. “Boy, what a
lot of options! How would you like to do this?”

“I wouldn't. What is the basis for your revenge? You painted
yourself into a corner. I had nothing to do with it.”

“I requested your help in covering up my transgressions. You
turned your back on me instead.”

“I left because you were missing. That's hardly cause to kill
me.”

“I gave you a chance to return, Frank. In fact I ordered it.
You blew me off.”

“I didn't. I told you --”

“Enough, Frank. You're nothing but a loose end now.”

“But the police already know who you are. Killing me won't
--”

“Enough!” The Pastor was still scrutinizing the garage.
“You know, I had planned to just slice you to ribbons like I
did to Edgar. But all this equipment is giving me a few ideas.”

Frank began struggling against his restraint, although it quickly
became obvious to him that it was pointless. He was stuck, and would
remain stuck until the Pastor unlocked him. “How did you find
Edgar, anyway? Or me, for that matter?”