Deviation (5 page)

“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.

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 her 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.

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 toward 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.”

“So do I.” After releasing Frank's hand
he turned and nodded to Dianne. “Nice meeting you, Dianne.
Good luck to you as well, and with whatever brings you here.”

“Thank you.”

Stevens nodded to both of them in turn and then spun
around, retreating back down the hall.

When he was out of sight, Frank opened the door wider.
“Would you like to come in? I was just... catching up on
some... things.”

Dianne glanced cautiously into the small room, not
sure how to proceed. She'd pictured them sitting in the kitchen
again. “Uh...”

“We could go somewhere else, if you'd prefer,”
he offered, sensing her dismay.

She nodded. “That might be good. There's a few
things I need to tell you.”

“Alright. I take it there have been some
developments.”

“Yes.”

He pursed his lips and pulled his hand out from his
pocket. He was holding a small glass pipe. “I don't suppose
you want a little meth? Just a quick hit to clear your mind?”

Dianne stared at the pipe, fascinated. “Maybe
another time.”

“Another time would be splendid. I'm almost
completely out, but my guy is due to show up this afternoon. We
could smoke up a storm later on, if you'd like.”

“Maybe.”

Frank opened his drawer and placed the pipe and a
lighter inside. Then he closed it and joined Dianne in the hall,
shutting the door behind him. “Any particular place you'd
like to speak?”

“The kitchen would be nice. If it's available.”

“It's always available.”

They made their way down the hall, Dianne fighting off
the urge to start describing what had happened. She wanted to wait
until they were seated comfortably, as they had been yesterday.

“You look well,” Frank commented. “I
take it everything went okay with your... friend?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh?”

She sighed. “I was hoping... maybe... we could
have another can of beer.”

Frank smiled at the request. “A beer sounds
delightful.”

“I'm still a little hungover, but not too
badly.”

“I was a bit hungover myself. I must admit,
I've already had a couple of beers, but I'm always in the mood for a
couple more.”

When they reached the kitchen, Frank entered first and
motioned for Dianne to have a seat. “Shall we sit at our same
little table?”

“That would be nice.”

“A creature of habit. Will Pabst work for you
again today, or would you prefer something a little fancier?”

“Pabst would be fine, thank you.” She
pulled out the same chair she'd sat in the day before and settled
in, placing her purse off to one side. She watched as Frank removed
two cans from the refrigerator, feeling almost as if she'd fallen
into a pleasant little routine. She could get used to this. It was
too bad Frank wasn't a decade or two younger. And not a priest.
She felt herself blush and tried to get such thoughts out of her
head.

Frank cracked open both cans and set one down on the
table before her. “Chips?”

Dianne smiled. “I'm okay for now. Thank you
for the beer, though.”

“You're very welcome.” He took a seat
beside her and held up his can in a toast. “To better days.”

Dianne lifted her beer and touched it against his.
“I'll drink to that.”

They each drank, Dianne surprising herself by guzzling
almost half the can. It felt wonderful going down and eliminated
most of what remained of her headache.

Noticing her enthusiasm, Frank grinned. “Do I
have some competition today?”

“Maybe.”

“Excellent.” He set his can on the table
and folded his hands. “Please. Tell me what happened.”

All traces of happiness instantly vanished from
Dianne's expression. She looked suddenly depressed. “Well...
things didn't exactly go as planned.”

“They rarely do. Neither of us would be here
right now if they did. But I digress. What happened? Nothing
terrible, I hope.”

“Actually...” She looked down at the
tabletop, her face slack. “Things did go sort of terrible,
I'm afraid.” She forced herself to look at him. “That's
why I needed to talk with you.”

Frank reached across
the table and put his hand over hers. “Dianne. Things could
not have gone
too
badly. If they had, you wouldn't have made it back to tell your
tale.”

She tried to smile
and failed. “He beat me up again. At least he started to. I
just wanted to go to bed, despite what we talked about yesterday. I
would
have just gone to bed... but he wouldn't allow it.”

“I hope you persuaded him.”

“I tried. I really did. He was hungry, and
angry I was home so late. Anyway, I don't want to go into all the
pathetic little details. But he just kept hitting me, and slamming
me into the wall. I couldn't take it anymore.”

Frank was clenching his jaw. “I hope you got a
chance to try out that little gift I gave you.”

She nodded, not speaking.

Searching her eyes, Frank realized what had happened.
“Are you telling me... you went a little too far?”

Another nod. Tears sprang from Dianne's eyes and ran
down her face. She quickly wiped them away with her free hand.

“It's alright,” Frank said. “You
did what you had to do. You couldn't very well continue on with the
way things were.”

“No,” she croaked. She lifted her beer
and drank several large swallows.

“I hope you didn't tell anyone else what
happened.”

“No.”

“That's good.” He squeezed her hand
gently. “And what's left of the gallant young hero... he's
still there? In the apartment?”

“Yes. I didn't know what to do.”

“You did the right thing, I assure you. The
only part that bothers me is your reaction. You don't deserve to
feel bad about this, Dianne.”

She stared at him. “I don't?”

“Not at all. You should be proud of yourself.
In fact, I myself feel rather proud of you.”

Dianne hadn't expected to hear such a thing. She
studied him, trying to determine if he was being sincere. “You
do? For killing someone?”

“Absolutely. After you left here yesterday, I'd
been worried that you were going to allow him to... do his thing...
unimpeded. And then I thought to myself, no; not her. She's far
too smart for that. Too good for it, too. But then I began to
worry that you'd find the courage to stand up for yourself and fail,
physically, which still would have been respectable, but obviously
not desirable.” He smiled. “But you, Dianne... you
stood up to him and you conquered him. You're a success on both
fronts. Congratulations. You have nothing left to fear from the
troublesome shit.”

“But I killed him! His corpse is in my
apartment!”

Father Frank sighed. He removed his hand from hers
and took a drink of beer. “Dianne, my young friend. What
you've done was to eliminate a source of great misery from your
life. In the only way that your tormenter would allow you to.
Trust me when I tell you that you don't deserve to feel bad about
this. Your problem is that you've been conditioned by society to
think and act in a certain manner, and for perhaps the first time in
your life you've gone against that conditioning. You need to take a
step back from what you've been taught and see the bigger picture.
The picture god himself would see, if god were to actually exist.
The individual you killed was nothing but a piece of human garbage.
I admire you for it.”

Strangely, the words touched Dianne's heart. She felt
as if she were going to cry again, but this time from gratitude.
“But... I'm still in a lot of trouble.”

“From whom, Dianne? Certainly not from god,
which should be your only concern. You're judging yourself based on
the ideals of man, and man is anything but ideal. Human beings,
ourselves included, unfortunately, are really no different than shit
beetles.”