Ten Plagues (38 page)

E
XODUS
10:4–5

Darling Rosita. She had been so surprised to see him at the hospital. Pravus felt like he had rediscovered his reason for living. He was fulfilled and happy and restored to his path.

Rosita lay before him, still untouched. Her deeply tanned skin, the burnished brown of her people, was nearly the color of fine wood. She would be a delight to create with. Then Pravus thought of the pretty detective’s skin. Lighter, but beautiful in its own way.

She would be next. It would suit the beast in him to visit the plague of darkness on the pretty lady detective.

Then the plague of the firstborn. The good reverend was the eldest in his family.

When it came time for the plague of the firstborn, then, finally, Pravus would get the ultimate atonement. He’d told Patricia Morris when she rejected his art that she would regret it. She had the chance to set such a wealth of beauty free. His people. His children. His creations.

He’d heard whispers of the demon for years, and Pravus had always enjoyed the power of the devil. The reverend’s wife had treated him as if she were a ruler, a pharaoh, barring his way to the respect, the wealth, the freedom he and his people deserved.

And when he killed her and her child, for a while it had been enough. He might have never struck again if the reverend hadn’t wielded his power so corruptly. True, Pravus was a murderer, but the reverend didn’t know that. The reverend accepted that it was an accident. But he’d brought his crushing boot down on Pravus’s neck out of spite.

While he’d sat in jail, the anger had burned. It ate at him. Grew in him along with the beast. He’d have let the reverend go if it hadn’t been for prison. Pravus had spent his time behind bars planning what he’d do when he was free. How he’d free himself and his creations—and use the reverend to do it.

Once Pravus was out and his death had been accepted, he made his preparations to punish the reverend. It was no longer about a woman’s foolish decision. It was between the beast and God, with Pravus fighting on the side of the beast, fighting for power and the right to create. The right to have his people set free and revered by all the world.

Pravus would earn the right to be God.

It was time for the end to unfold for his father. No. Pravus shook his head. The reverend. This was about the reverend.

The last three plagues would rain down so hard the reverend would be grateful for death.

Pravus couldn’t wait to begin the end. He should have waited, done his painting, made his carving, but he couldn’t wait to share his good news about Rosita. He reached for his new cell phone.

Paul lifted his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

Based on his actions, Keren guessed he’d keep kissing her while he decided. Her arms tightened around his neck so she could be comfortable while he was thinking.

“I’ve decided I like your hair tie, too.” Sinking his hands into her hair, he seemed to play with it, as if he really did like the terrible mess. Smiling against his lips, Keren decided she liked her hair, too.

His phone rang.

He reached for it and almost answered before Keren snatched the phone out of his hands. “Do this right.” Her voice was husky, but her thinking was still functional.

Paul shook his head as if to clear it then nodded as he fumbled for his second cell phone. He speed-dialed Higgins. Higgins set up the trace and began to track down the caller ID number. Keren worked on the recorder buttons and was waiting when Paul said, “Higgins is ready to triangulate.”

She nodded. “I’m ready, too. Go.”

Paul answered his phone.

“Hello, Reverend. Have you missed me?”

Keren’s phone beeped. Seeing Higgins’s number, she switched to him.

Higgins hissed, “He’s not on a cell. It’s a landline. We need more time to trace it.”

Keren mouthed to Paul,
Keep him talking
. She switched back to Caldwell’s call.

Paul’s eyes flashed with understanding. “No, I can’t say that I have, Francis. I would’ve preferred it if I never heard your voice again.”

“You don’t seem to have the correct attitude, Reverend,” Caldwell purred. “I’ve decided that’s my fault. I faltered for a time when I chose my victims.”

“All of this is your fault.”

“Put the pretty detective on, please.”

“What are you talking about, Francis? You called me, so you talk to me.”

“She’s standing right beside you. She’s wearing a tacky, ill-fitting brown blazer. Are you listening, Kerenhappuch? Brown really isn’t your color. With all that flyaway brown hair, you look like something dirty.”

Keren looked up sharply at the mission’s front window. She looked at Paul, and they both nodded. Caldwell was watching them, looking in this window.

She touched her hair then pulled her hand away and pushed M
UTE
O
FF
on her cell.

Paul grabbed for her phone, shaking his head.

Keren dodged him. “All right, I’m here, Francis. I can’t thank you enough for the fashion advice.”

“I just wanted to let you know you’re next, pretty girl. You’re my choice for the plague of darkness.”

Keren felt a cold chill crawl up her spine, but she didn’t let so much as a breath of it sound when she responded. “You’ll never try for me, Caldwell. You pick on defenseless women. You wait until their backs are turned and grab them.”

“They come willingly every time, Kerenhappuch.”

“I’m sure Melody Fredericks came willingly.” Keren’s voice dripped with disdain. “And Talking Bertha, a homeless woman who couldn’t even be convinced to stay in the mission overnight, came willingly with you. Hah.”

“I honor a woman when I choose her, and they all know it by the time I’m done.”

Keren remembered that she’d thought the time might come when she’d have to offer herself up as bait to catch Caldwell. That time was now, and she was ready. “Guess what? I think you’re a lousy artist, Pravus. And I think you’re too much of a coward to ever come for me. I think you’re an insect. That’s why you’re obsessed with acting out this pathetic version of the plagues of Egypt. You see yourself in creepy, crawly things.”

“Like locusts?” Caldwell suggested.

Keren looked up at Paul and their eyes met. Keren glanced at her watch.

“Why have you called, Pravus?” Paul asked. “What stupid, cowardly thing have you done this time?”

“This time?”

A high-pitched scream nearly slit Keren’s eardrum. She jerked the phone away. The sound was quickly muffled, but they could still hear it. The pain, the terror. Keren felt tears burn her eyes. They had to find him! They had to stop him!

“No screaming, my dear. No one pays attention to such things in this neighborhood, but still, I must ask you to refrain, or I won’t let you talk to your precious Pastor P.”

The voice returned, and, through broken sobs, they both heard, “Pastor P? He told me you sent him. I believed him. It’s—” Her voice was cut off.

“Rosita?” Paul shouted. “Rosita, is that you?”

Color drained from Paul’s face, to be replaced with sheer terror. He clutched the phone until Keren was afraid he’d snap it in two.

“Of course it’s her. I took someone precious to you. Someone to get you involved again. Perhaps, when the plagues are over, I’ll just start at one again. The plague of blood. Oh, but wait, who will I call? You’ll be dead, Reverend.”

“Let me talk to Rosita. Put her back on.”

Rosita continued crying in pain.

Caldwell crooned, “The only reason I’d let her talk is so you could hear her scream. Is that what you want, Reverend? Do you want me to make her scream?”

“No! Stop! Please, don’t.” In anguish Paul cried out, “Rosita!”

“Pestis ex locusta. Intriguing, isn’t it? I think, instead of letting her provide the paint for my work, I’m going to cut her open and fill her belly with them while she’s still alive.”

The muted screams increased. Paul covered his eyes with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. Keren saw tears seeping out from under his fingers.

“It worked didn’t it, Reverend?” Caldwell crooned. “You’re involved again.”

“It worked, Caldwell,” Paul said furiously. “I’m back in.”

The phone cut off. It wasn’t long enough. Keren slapped her phone shut with a growl of rage.

Her phone rang again. It was Higgins. “We’ve got him! We got him a minute in.”

“How? It wasn’t long enough.” Keren went to look out the window. Hundreds, maybe thousands of apartments where the front window of the mission could be visible. He was in one of them.

“I’ve already got cars en route. We had them stationed in the neighborhood.”

“Where? Tell me.”

Paul’s eyes sharpened and he moved close enough to listen to Higgins.

“We didn’t need to trace him. Morris had us hide a bug on Rosita to trace her. We’ve been watching it ever since we identified her on the phone.”

“He did?” Keren shot Paul a look. “He didn’t tell me he did that.”

“I haven’t had a chance.” Grabbing her phone, Paul said, “Just tell me where she is.”

“He’s in that brownstone across and one south of the mission. GPS places him on the top floor.”

“Of course it’s the top,” Paul said. “Caldwell likes the penthouse.”

“Get over there,” Higgins ordered. “Seal off that building as best you can, but don’t go in. We’re only minutes away.”

They both ran. Keren hit the button that dialed O’Shea. He answered on the first ring. “Has the FBI clued you in?”

“Yes, I’m on the way—”

“We’re almost there.” Keren cut him off. “Right across the street from the mission. One building to the south.”

“We should have kicked in every door in that area.” O’Shea was running, breathing hard while he talked. “We knew he was close.”

“There are ten thousand doors, O’Shea.” Keren knew Caldwell was looking right at them. There was no way he wouldn’t see them rushing across the street. He knew. He’d be moving. He’d be killing Rosita.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“He’s got Rosita.” Keren picked up her speed.

“The little cook from the mission?”

“We heard her screaming, Mick. And Caldwell was watching us, looking right in the front window. He told me what I’m wearing. We’re not waiting until you get here to back us up. We’re going in now. We’ve got to stop him from killing her!”

“Keren, don’t! You know he was ready for us last time. You could be running straight into a trap!”

Paul pulled the door to the brownstone open and began sprinting up the stairs. Keren felt the demonic presence the instant she stepped inside. The call from O’Shea dropped in the concrete stairwell, but she couldn’t talk and run anyway. Jamming the phone in her pocket, she picked up her speed to stay with Paul. Four flights. Every second they were closing in on him, but he had another stairway to use to get away, besides the fire escapes. Caldwell might evade them, but he’d have a hard time doing it with Rosita tossed over his shoulder.

They charged on until they reached the top. Paul began kicking in doors. Keren said, “Don’t waste your time. He’s in that one.” She ran straight for the door at the far end of the hall. The evil was so thick she had trouble inhaling. The door practically vibrated with the contained demonic power.

Keren pulled her weapon and kicked the door in. Rosita lay in her white death shroud, her arms spread out at her sides, blood and locusts everywhere. “Paul, she’s here!”

Paul ran past Keren. He was already on the phone, calling an ambulance. Keren entered the room with her gun held in two hands, extended straight in front of her. A locust landed on her face. She ignored it.

She turned quickly in a circle. He was here, but she couldn’t pinpoint the evil. It was everywhere. She turned again, gun ready. There was a door ajar that led to the kitchen. There were four other doors in the apartment, all closed. Closets, bedrooms, bathrooms, Keren studied them, still turning, still trying to cover them all. Her heart pounded until she thought it might explode out of her chest. The evil was choking her. She prayed for strength as she waited, trying to keep Rosita safe until help could get here or they could get out. Releasing one hand from the gun, she pulled out her phone to tell Higgins exactly where they were.

Paul finished shouting directions into his phone. He tugged a knife out of his boot. Keren had known he’d arm himself somehow.

Rosita had been cut, but it didn’t look life threatening. Locusts swarmed everywhere and flew thick in the air. Keren hit the speed dial for O’Shea’s number then swiped her upper arm across her face to knock the locust away, all without letting go of her gun or stopping her rigid watch on the doors that hid Caldwell.

Paul slit the tape on Rosita’s arms and ankles. She flailed as if she were fighting Paul’s help. He got to her mouth last and very carefully pulled at the corner of the tape. Rosita grabbed at the tape and ripped it away with a scream of pain.

“Get out,” she screamed. “He’s here!”

The lights went out.

Keren realized in a split second that the windows in the room were boarded over. The hall door had swung shut whether by accident or design. She’d bet on design.

Suddenly the evil had a direction. Keren heard the slight
squeak
of a door opening. She whirled around to face one of the closed doors.