Deviation by Scott M. Williams Page A

idea.”
    “Are you interested in seeing the architecture,
or do you have an affinity toward middle-aged priests?”
    “You really don't seem like a priest to me.”
    “Oh? What do I seem like?”
    “Actually, you remind me of a guy I dated in
college. He was a doper, always worrying about his next score. He
hated cops, too. He carried a little pipe in his pocket, like you
do. He could make one out of anything. Once I saw him make one out
of a pen.”
    “Oh, that's easy,” Frank assured her.
“Once I made one out of an acorn.”
    She was grinning happily. “I doubt he could
have done that.”
    They sat in silence for a moment, thinking things
over. There were the beginnings of a sexual tension hanging in the
air between them and they were both fully aware of it.
    Dianne drank some more stout. “So do you want
to smoke some weed with me?”
    “Of course. It was my idea.” Frank
drained his beer and stood up. “Let's go to my room. I think
you'll like it.”

    * * *

    Dianne did like the room. She walked through it,
smiling, touching things and asking questions. Frank tolerated it
and even found it amusing. It had been years since he'd had a woman
in his room.
    “Where are we going to sit?” she asked,
glancing over at the single chair in front of Frank's desk.
    He gestured to the bed. “I always smoke
cannabis in bed. I'm not sure why that is.”
    Dianne laughed. “You think I'm going to climb
into your bed that easily?”
    “Oh, no. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to
proposition you. I really do smoke it in bed. Just sitting on the
bed would do. Unless you'd like to smoke in one of the classrooms?”
    “No, this is fine.” She walked over and
took a seat on the bed. She'd left her purse in the kitchen but she
brought along her bottle of beer.
    “I'm glad you like it.”
    “I love it. I've never been in a place like
this before. It's kind of like an efficiency in an old run-down
building, but it's better than that because it's actually a church.”
    “Yes. My thoughts exactly.” He sat down
beside her on the bed and lifted his bible from the bedside table.
    Dianne watched him, taking a sip of beer. “Are
you going to read me a sermon before we smoke?”
    Frank opened the book and removed his baggie and pipe.
“Not at all.” He still had a lighter in his pocket
from earlier. He shook open the bag and proceeded to pack a small
bowl.
    Dianne was gaping at the hollowed-out bible, not sure
she was comprehending what she saw. She reached out and ran one
finger along the shredded edges of the butchered pages. “Did
you... do this?”
    “Of course. Who else would have?”
    She stared at him with growing unease. “Isn't
that... sacrilegious?”
    “Why would you say that?”
    “It's a bible! The word of god! I thought you
held it sacred.” She looked almost shocked.
    Frank tore up a small bud and pressed it into the
pipe, shaking his head. “God didn't write the bible, Dianne.
God didn't write anything, to the best of my knowledge.”
    “But... then... who wrote it?”
    He shrugged. “Who knows? It was written by
people who lied about their identities. It's a book of lies written
by people who lied about who they were.”
    She watched him press another small clump into the
pipe. “How do you know? I always thought...”
    “It's relatively common knowledge. Scholars
even have a word for it. Pseudepigrapha. If you take a college
course in bible study, you'll learn this term. It means 'writing
inscribed with lies.'”
    “But... the bible!”
    “Yes, the bible.” Frank rolled up the
baggie and stuffed it back into the book. Then he closed it and set
it aside. “It would be virtually impossible for anyone with
common sense to mistake the bible for truth. Everything in it
contradicts everything else. I hope god is punishing those who
wrote it. I certainly would.” He handed Dianne the pipe and
the lighter. “Would you like to do the honors?”
    She nodded, her expression still stark. “I had
no