Deviation (16 page)

The Post Harbour Place
Apartments were located on Harbour Post Dr. in Tampa, Florida. Edgar
Stevens had chosen the place from a website based primarily on its
location. Now that he was actually there, he was beginning to regret
his decision.

The apartment itself was
perfectly adequate. It was a large one bedroom unit on the top
floor, and the price was fair, which was another of the reasons he'd
chosen it. What the website failed to mention was the overabundance
of college students living on the premises. It was noisy all the
time. He'd only been there for one day, but the noise hadn't
diminished a bit since he'd arrived; if anything, it had gotten
worse. The kids seemed to party around the clock. There was
constant drinking, and the sharp, skunky odor of marijuana drifted up
to him on an almost hourly basis. He doubted he'd be staying any
longer than his six month lease required him to.

Well, there was nothing to be
done about it now. He'd simply have to endure it for the time being.
He was scheduled to begin his new position at St. Andrews on
Saturday morning; until then he planned to hang out in his new rooms
as much as possible and do some drinking of his own.

He'd stopped at The Liquor Depot
earlier in the day and stocked up on supplies. He could show those
kids a thing or two about drinking if he wanted to. He stood in his
kitchen, tearing open a bag of pretzels and dumping them into a large
bowl. He opened a bag of Ruffles potato chips and dumped in half of
those as well. Finally, he added a small bag of Bold Chex Mix,
almost filling the bowl to capacity. He used one hand to reach in
and stir the snacks together, pulling out a large chip and stuffing
it into his mouth.

“Mmm,” he said
aloud. “Time to get the party started.”

Stevens took down a plastic
tumbler from the cabinet above the sink. He hadn't finished
unpacking yet, not by a long shot, but he'd taken care of the
essentials. He threw a few ice cubes into the tumbler and then
filled it halfway with vodka and halfway with apple juice. It was a
concoction he'd been partial to for years, since a fateful night in
2009 when he was unable to locate any orange juice. He stirred it
with one fat finger and then slipped the finger into his mouth.

“Mmm. You guessed it,
ladies and gentlemen. It's time to start your engines.”

Edgar Stevens lifted his drink
and his giant bowl of snacks and carried them out to the living room.
There was an end-table directly beside his massive recliner and he
set them down carefully, then picked up the remote and powered on the
TV. He spent a moment flipping through the channels, trying to
locate something worth watching. The cable wasn't hooked up yet, so
the choices were rather limited. After going through each of the
channels twice, he finally stopped when the familiar sound of the
Three's Company theme song filled the room. He smiled and began
increasing the volume until it was loud enough to block out much of
the noise from the neighboring apartments.

“This must be my lucky
day.” He eased into his chair and reached over, helping
himself to a pretzel stick. He crunched it up and followed it with a
long drink from his tumbler. Tampa wasn't such a bad place after
all, he thought. He could get used to this.

He reached over and grabbed
another chip. The show was just starting, and he was pretty sure
he'd never seen this particular episode. Was it possible? He smiled
again and lifted his drink.

Just then there was a knock on
the door.

Stevens paused, his tumbler
poised at his lips. Who could possibly be at his door? He hadn't
met a single person in the building besides the manager. Perhaps his
TV was too loud. He set down his drink and lowered the volume
slightly, angry that he was missing part of his show.

The knock came again, louder
this time.

“What the hell?” he
muttered. He got up from his chair, his fingers snatching another
pretzel from the bowl and tucking it into his mouth.

If these types of intrusions
were going to persist, he was going to break his lease; there was no
question about it. He crossed the room and spent a moment unlocking
the door. There were two deadbolts and a chain; good security. When
he had it unlocked, he turned the knob and pulled the door open.

“Can I --” Stevens
froze, his heart almost seizing up in his chest. Standing there
looking back at him was the one person in all the world he'd hoped
never to see again.

“Edgar!” said
Douglas McKenzie. “What a pleasant surprise!”

Stevens felt his bowels loosen.
This couldn't be happening. “P-P-Pastor...”

“What's the matter, Edgar?
You look as white as a ghost.”

McKenzie pushed his way inside,
slipping a switchblade from the pocket of his robe.

They drove through until
sunrise, sipping beer and feeling the effects of their sleepless
night as the LSD began to wear off. Dianne missed it before it was
even gone. She'd liked her first trip overall; the visuals, the
psychological insights, the feeling of the heavy drug burning in her
system. She also liked and missed some of the more subtle effects,
ones she couldn't quite fully remember. She knew Frank had more of
the acid, and it dawned on her that she'd like to try it again,
sooner or later.

The fact that she'd killed again
bothered her, but not as much as she would have thought. Frank was
correct in his belief that human beings were not far removed from
insects. There were billions of them, and more every hour. They
were all going to die, too. What difference did it make if a few odd
lives here and there were taken by her hand? Just because people
thought they were important didn't mean they were. They couldn't be.
There were far too many of them to matter. And if god didn't care,
why should she?

They found another motel in
Kearney, just east of Lexington, and paid in cash for one night.
They slept all day, oblivious to the world and everything that was
going on around them. When they woke up, late on Thursday night,
they made love and then smoked a joint while lying in bed. They both
felt refreshed, and gratified, and ready to continue on.

After showering and changing
clothes, as well as eating the last of their sandwiches, they were
back in the car and heading west. Frank was getting into the
cocaine, and trying to persuade Dianne to join him.

“I told you, I really
don't care for it.” She was driving again, already fully
accustomed to the way their new car handled.

“I won't ask again. I
just feel funny, using it without offering you some.”

“You don't have to offer.
The weed and the beer are plenty for me.”

Frank snorted a little pile of
coke out of the palm of his hand. “You seemed to like the
acid.”

“I did. I wouldn't mind
doing it again, but not right away.”

“That's fine. It wouldn't
work anyway, the very next day. Your body builds up a kind of
tolerance.”

“Maybe next week. When
things settle down a little.”

“Alright.” He put
the cocaine in the glove-box and settled back in his seat. “I
wonder where we'll be by then?”

“I wonder where we'll be
by morning. If we keep going for another couple of days we're going
to reach the ocean.”

“I don't think we need to
go that far.”

“Neither do I, but I'm not
sure where we
should
go.”

“Where would you like to
go?”

“No place in particular.
Or permanent. But maybe we can stop somewhere for a few days and
just kind of mellow out.”

“That sounds wonderful.
If we find an inexpensive motel...”

“Motels kind of depress
me,” Dianne interjected. “I mean, they're okay for a day
or two once in awhile. But they make me feel like... I don't know...
like I'm just another useless slob, renting a bed for the night. Or
in our case, the day.”

Frank was studying her in the
constantly shifting glare of oncoming headlights. “I know what
you mean. But what would you prefer?”

She shrugged and peeked over at
him. “I don't know. Maybe...”

“Yes?”

“Well... the other day,
you were telling me that it was my world.”

“It is.”

She nodded. “I like that.
It feels right.”

“It is right. What do you
propose?”

“Well...” She
shifted in her seat. “I was just thinking...”

“Yes?”

“What if we found a nice
house? Just for a few days?”

“You mean, rent one?”

“No. Just... move in.”

“Ahh. You're talking
about squatting. I haven't done that since I was in college.”

“No. Not squatting. I
mean, what if we moved into a house that wasn't vacant?” She
looked at him, feeling suddenly anxious. She'd thought long and hard
about suggesting such a thing, and finally worked up enough nerve to
do it. “A house that someone lives in.”

“You mean...”

“It was just a thought.”

“You're getting more
daring.”

“Maybe so.”

“You know, when I first
suggested that we... travel together... that you might not be ready.
That you might not be able to handle the stress of having total
freedom and no routine.”

She grinned. “I love it!
I didn't at first, but... I don't know... I'm getting more used to it
now. The idea of finding a job in one of these ridiculous towns and
getting another shitty apartment... it just makes me feel sick. I
don't think I'd even be capable of doing it now.”

“You've become a free
spirit.”

She liked the sound of it. “Is
that what I am?”

“I think so.”

She nodded, her face bathed in
stark shadows. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

“I'm glad. But... about
this house...”

“Bad idea?”

“Not necessarily. I just
want you to be sure. You need to be prepared for the consequences,
you know.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, if you're
suggesting we simply march into someone's home and... take over, so
to speak... you need to be ready for the likelihood of their
retaliation.”

His words dampened her mood.
“You don't like my idea.”

“I do like it. In fact, I
would have suggested something similar, if I thought that you'd be
willing to go along with it.”

She looked at him, her
enthusiasm building. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I had no
idea you would have adjusted this quickly.”

She smiled again. “I
have! I mean, I'm really liking this. It's like a huge rush of
freedom. Freedom to do whatever we want.”

“We certainly do have that
freedom. But keep in mind that everyone else does, too. The
difference is, they don't seem to realize it. But still, if we push
our way into someone's home, they're not going to be apt to just sit
back and let it happen.”

She felt an unjustified sense of
anger. Not at Frank, but at the idea that people would always be in
her way, no matter what she did. “They won't have a choice.”

“They
do
have a choice, Dianne. As pathetic and ineffectual as they may seem,
these shit beetles who populate the world can be very dangerous.
Don't ever underestimate them. A lot of them are heavily armed, and
waiting for an excuse to see what 30 rounds of high caliber ammo will
do to a human body.”