Deviation Read Online Free Page B

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