Ten Plagues (17 page)

The lousy bed made it easy to get up early.

She ran home to shower and change. As she entered her apartment, a chill went up her spine. She’d known Pravus was possibly going to target her, even hoped for it so they could get him. But now Higgins’s voice haunted her. It made her furious that her own home spooked her. Stepping into the main room, she suddenly saw all that was wrong about her apartment. She was savvy about personal safety, but she lived in a decent neighborhood and hadn’t ever worried much.

The building had a secure entrance. But she was on the ground floor. It wouldn’t exactly take a CIA agent with cat burglar skills and high-tech electronics to get in. Access could be gained with a hammer slammed through her patio window, for heaven’s sake. And there were bushes and shade trees on the side where her glass patio doors were. There was a stylish streetlamp back there, but it was more for show than illumination. The shrubs and trees shrouded the area in darkness.

Now, in full daylight, she stood for a moment, looking out in that pretty little green space. She’d always loved it. It had helped sell her on this apartment. Now it scared her and she hated that. Hated knowing she was vulnerable and that, along with her own danger, she might bring danger to her neighbors.

She’d already known she might be a target, but she didn’t think it was her time yet. Not while Pravus was busy pouring out his madness on poor LaToya.

Rushing through getting dressed—to get out of an apartment she’d enjoyed for the last few years, she didn’t put on church clothes. They’d be badly out of place at the mission. Only now, several days too late, did she realize that she should have been hanging around the mission from the first, trying to sense that demonic presence. It irritated her a little that Higgins and Dyson had helped her realize that. She wanted to believe their presence was a waste of taxpayer dollars.

So, though she’d already decided she wanted to listen to Paul preach, now she was going for another, less honorable reason—a cop reason. She hoped Paul didn’t realize it. Or if he did, he didn’t blow a gasket.

She wore khaki slacks, a polo shirt, and her best shoes. Nikes. One of the rules she lived by was that she never put anything on her feet that wouldn’t allow her to chase a fleeing criminal or run for her life.

She got to the Lighthouse Mission in time for breakfast. Paul was on the business side of a counter covered with steaming stainless steel pans.

“Hi, come to help?” He saluted her with a spatula.

“I’m counting on it.” Keren ferreted out a huge apron and asked Rosita if she could use a break from dishing up eggs. Rosita gladly gave up her spot in the serving line.

Standing next to Paul, Keren checked to see if he was as exhausted as she was.

He had red veins running through his eyes and dark circles under them, but he smiled, and for one split second he focused on her lips. She thought he might just kiss her again right here in front of everyone.

“Get to work.” He jabbed his spatula at her pan of eggs and grinned.

Keren ignored a stab of regret that he hadn’t followed through and kissed her. “Right away, sir.”

A line filed past and she scooped eggs onto the trays of shuffling homeless men and women. She ignored the smell of unwashed bodies and mass-produced food and watched the men as they came through, mindful of the way people treated the homeless. She said hello to each of them. This was her precinct, and she knew a few by name because they were regulars in the neighborhood. Some of them recognized her as a cop and gave her doubtful looks, but they must have been hungry, because they took their food and moved on.

Paul was in his element. He talked to each man and woman. He asked about personal matters and apologized for being gone so much that week. LaToya’s name came up several times, as did Juanita’s. It was an insular community in many ways. They knew what was going on around them, even if they chose not to get involved with it.

When the line finally dwindled, Paul said, “I really appreciate your help this morning, Keren. Some of my most regular helpers are missing today. Murray didn’t even show up to preach. This is about half the crowd we usually have. I think they blame the mission for the trouble in the neighborhood.”

“What else can I do?”

“Fill those white thermal pitchers with coffee from the big pots and pour.” Paul smiled and arched his brows in a conspiratorial way then whispered, “If they take a second cup, they usually settle in and stay for services.”

Glad for a chance to move through the crowd, Keren filled a pot and circulated through the room. She laid her hand on many shoulders and occasionally stopped to talk.

She was surprised how much she enjoyed this act of service. Paul came up behind her to trade her nearly empty coffeepot for a full one.

“Jesus reached out over and over to people who were outcasts,” he murmured in her ear. “He calls us to do the same. The act of serving is one of the purest forms of Christianity, and it invariably returns more to us than we ever give.”

“But if we’re doing it for the blessings we receive, then is it a true act of service?” Keren asked.

“Ah, philosophy,” Paul said with a grin. “I suppose that depends on what’s in your heart. Is this a pure act of service, Keren, or are you here trying to earn God’s blessings?”

Before Keren could respond, Paul leaned closer. “Or maybe you’re trying to catch the interest of a certain preacher.”

She pulled away and gave him her best squinty gunslinger look.

“That cranky look’s not scaring me off. I’m definitely interested.” He left to refill his pot, and it was only with the greatest effort that Keren managed to close her mouth.

She turned back to the men she was serving.
I’m not here for that, Lord
.

No reassuring answer.

Am I?

She got to a man who had gone through the line before she’d arrived, and, as simply as that, she sensed the demon. Not Pravus—the impression was nowhere near that powerful—but there was no denying her discernment.

The man looked and smelled like the rest. His clothing was hanging in tatters. He was probably mid- to late-forties, but the street added years to a face. He could be younger. He had on a ragged sweatshirt that might have at one time been red. One of the shirt’s wrists was ripped away, the other hung by a thread. His pants were army fatigues, and his hair and beard looked like they hadn’t been washed or combed for years, or cut for a decade.

There was an empty place beside him; in fact, there were only two others sitting at the utilitarian table with him, and they were seated as far from him as possible. Keren wondered if the other transients could sense that he was different, more awash in evil than the rest of them. She eased herself into the chair beside him. She glanced up and saw Paul shake his head at her. So even Paul was careful of this man. She nodded once to let him know she got the message but she didn’t move. She was praying silently, asking for Jesus’ intervention, asking for leading. She laid a hand on the man’s arm and he turned to her with a sudden jerk. He snarled under his breath like a cornered wild animal.

Keren didn’t flinch. She looked at the man, trying to see past the surface, trying to see if there was someone here who would be open to her. Their eyes locked. She saw the struggle in him, the bitter unhappiness, the total defeat.

At last she said, “I know a way out of the darkness.”

“There is no way.” He moved as if he would get up and leave, but something kept him in his seat.

She gripped his shoulder and spoke softly. “Accept my prayers. I can help you get free from what’s inside of you.”

The man’s eyes cleared and Keren saw his longing. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“R–Roger.” Keren wondered how long it had been since he’d spoken his name out loud. His eyes lost focus, and she saw the effort he made to hang on to himself. “My name used to be Roger Prewitt.”

“Your name is
still
Roger Prewitt.” She leaned close. “I’m going to pray for you, Roger. The demon inside of you can be cast out. He’ll stay out if you turn your life over to Jesus. You can get out of the misery that controls your life.”

“There’s no way out.” Roger shook his head. Lice crawled along his hairline. His voice was guttural, as if he hadn’t used it in a long time. “This has been with me since I was in a car accident. I made a deal and I thought it was worth it to survive. But it’s
not
worth it. I’d rather have died that night than live like this. But at the time, burning alive was too much to face.”

Keren saw twisted, damaged skin on the back of his hand. She reached for the sleeve with the wrist cuff torn away and carefully pushed the shirt up. She uncovered deep, ugly scars.

“You must have been in terrible pain and you were weak.”

“How can you know that?” Roger’s voice grew loud and agitated.

“There’s no great miracle in my knowing fire is terribly painful. There’s only what’s obvious when I feel the demon in you and know a moment of weakness let it in. God sent me to help you.”

“He didn’t help me that night. He left me to die. Satan was there. He spared me and now he claims my soul as payment.”

“You’re wrong.” Keren laid her hand over his scarred hand and didn’t try to conceal the grief she felt for Roger’s suffering. “Life and death isn’t a deal Satan can make. God alone can give life and death.
God
saved you that night. But Satan can stand by and whisper lies in your ear. He’s the prince of lies.”

“So I gave up my soul for nothing?” Roger’s head began to sag as if it weighed too much to hold it up.

Keren let his sleeve fall back over the brutal scars and firmly raised his chin. “You didn’t give up your soul. The soul God gave you is alive in you, longing desperately to be returned to its proper place in God’s kingdom.”

“I made my choice.” He said it as if it were a matter of honor to him that he keep his bargain. “There’s no way out for me. I’ll live out my life on these streets. Then I’ll die. Life and death are both hell, it makes no difference.”

Keren forced him with sheer willpower to hold her gaze. “It doesn’t have to be that way. We can cast out the demon. God can restore joy and peace to your life.”

“Peace?” the man said with aching sadness. “I haven’t known a moment’s peace in twenty years.”

“You could rest in the Lord. Think of finally being at rest with your Savior. Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m tired,” he whispered. “I’ve been
so
tired for
so
long.”

“Pray with me.”

She began praying, softly enough no one around them could hear, but loudly enough to include Roger. She felt the war between good and evil being waged. She prayed, and then she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She looked up at Paul. His other hand was on Roger’s back. Roger’s eyes popped open.

“Let me add my prayers to yours,” Paul said.

Roger nodded confidently, as if Paul’s presence made him stronger. Suddenly Roger began to pray along with her and Paul. Tears sprang to Keren’s eyes. Her voice broke, but she continued to pray. She felt Paul’s hand settle on her back, and his words, different than hers, different than Roger’s, blended with theirs and became a harmony of pleas to God for freedom for one man.

Keren could feel the darkness begin to lose its battle. A high-pitched shriek, one she knew from experience only she could hear, built until it cut her eardrums. The demon battled until Roger’s body began to tremble. Roger’s hands shook and Keren grabbed them and held them tight.

With a quick, loud
crack
—again audible only to her—and one last hideous scream of fury, the demon was gone. Keren opened her eyes and looked into the face of a changed man. Wonder filled Roger right before her eyes.

“Pastor P is going to preach a sermon today, Roger.” She kept his hands gripped firmly in hers. “You’re going to hear it with new ears. You need to replace the despair that’s inside you with love. You need to nurture the peace you’ve been given.”

“How did you do this?” Roger asked in awe.

“Not me,” Keren said. “Don’t ever think it was me. God revealed your sorrow to me and used me to pray with you. God removed that demon from you. All you’ve ever needed to do was turn to Him and simply ask for freedom.”

“That’s all I needed to do? But why did He wait so long? Why did He let me waste all these years?”

“He didn’t wait.” Keren shook her head. “I can promise you He’s tried many times before. He’s sent people before, but you weren’t ready to listen until now.”

“How can you know things about me like that?”

“I don’t know things about you. But I know God. I know He’s always trying to bring His children home.”

Roger’s eyes seemed to look back over the years, and Keren hoped he was remembering times when God had tried to bring him back.

“You’re right.” He nodded. “I know you are.”

Keren cradled Roger’s grimy hands with their claw-like nails, caked with dirt. “God loves you, Roger. He has never left you, not during all these years you’ve lived such a hopeless life. He has never quit calling to you. God asks us only to believe in Him, to believe in Jesus.”

“I do believe. How could I live through what just happened and not believe.” His hands turned in her grip and clasped Keren’s. “I’ve done so much evil in my life. I abandoned my wife and children. I’ve wasted my life hating the whole world.”

Roger looked sideways at Paul. “Can you help me….” He looked down at himself. “I want to be clean and decent. I have two children. I need to find them.”

“You know I’ll help you, Roger. I’ve been praying you’d let me help you for a long time.”

“Why would you pray for me, Pastor? There’s so much more hope with a lot of these men. Why would you pick me?”

“I didn’t pick you over them, Roger. I pray for all of you. Every one of you, every day, by name.”

Roger’s eyes filled with tears.

Paul’s hand on Roger’s back shifted. Keren knew it was an offer of comfort.

“Are all of these men like me?” Roger asked Keren. “Is a demon living in all of them?”

“I can’t answer that. God told me there was a demon in you. He may only tell me of those who are ready to listen.”