Ten Plagues (39 page)

Rosita shouted, “Pastor P, the killer is …” A crushing blow to Keren’s hands knocked her gun to the floor. Her phone went flying. “Paul!”

The dull
thud
on her head cut off her cry for help.

“Stretch out your hand toward the sky so that darkness will spread over Egypt
—
darkness that can be felt. “

E
XODUS
10:21

Pravus felt it, and he made sure Kerenhappuch felt it, too. At least she’d be able to feel it when she woke. He pulled the rough wool over her head and tossed her over his shoulder. He felt the strain of it. Yes, he’d honed his muscles, but he’d also drained his own blood when he needed to create. It was telling on his strength.

But he managed. He did what he had to do.

He vanished out of the apartment through the passage he’d spent so much time creating. It was the work of seconds to secure her with tape. He dumped her limp body in his trunk, was out of the garage and driving toward the expressway before he heard the first police sirens.

Paul heard it all.

Over Rosita’s shouts, he heard the
squeak
of a door opening. A quick rush of footsteps on a loose floorboard …

Keren yelling his name …

The
whoosh
of something solid swinging through the air … The clatter of a gun hitting the floor … The sickening
thud
that cut off Keren’s words …

Then silence.

Darkness. The plague of darkness.

“He’s here, Pastor P. He’s doing all of this. He killed Juanita.” Rosita broke into sobs. “He hurt LaToya.”

Paul ran toward the sound Keren made, but there was only darkness. “Keren,” he roared. “Keren, answer me.”

But she didn’t, and he knew that could only mean one thing. She couldn’t. Fighting down panic, he groped wildly, trying to latch onto something, anything. Rosita crashed into him, sobbing and crying out the identity of the man who’d taken her.

I’ve nurtured a viper
.

And now he’d taken Keren. A woman he thought he could love. A woman he already
did love
.

Paul held Rosita to support her as he went toward the sound of the door he’d heard squeak. He was so disoriented in the stygian darkness that he wasn’t even sure how to get out of the apartment.

When he began to despair of ever escaping the pit created by a demon, a door crashed open and men came running into the room. O’Shea was one of them. There were seconds of confusion and the lights came on, blinding Paul. Then he saw Rosita, wearing the ghastly painted dress, shaking violently as he held her upright.

“Where’s Keren?” O’Shea roared. “What happened in here?”

One of the policemen slid an arm around Rosita and said, “Let’s get you out of here, miss.”

Sobbing, Rosita walked out, well supported by the patrolman.

Two other cops came in, then five more. They fanned out into the apartment, covering the whole thing in seconds.

“Where is she, Paul?” O’Shea grabbed him by the front of his shirt as if he’d beat the answer out of him if Paul didn’t start talking.

“Gone,” Paul said helplessly, now studying every corner of the room. Locusts flew and crawled everywhere. Paul heard the crunching under the feet of the searching officers. “She’s gone.”

“Gone where? Did she go after Caldwell alone?” O’Shea shook him again.

“He took her.” Paul wrenched away from O’Shea and began slamming open doors, seeking, finding nothing. “The lights went out. I heard Keren yell. And then she was just gone.”

“Think! You must have seen something!”

Paul checked every closet feverishly, even though the police were already doing it. “It was dark. Pitch dark. With that door closed, there wasn’t a shred of light in this room.”

“Then you heard something. You know something. Quit whining and try to think like a cop! Give me a report!” O’Shea’s voice cracked like a whip, and Paul felt the sting.

“I never saw Caldwell. I have no idea how he got out of here.” Paul gave up. She wasn’t here.

O’Shea grabbed Paul with surprising strength and spun him around so they were face-to-face. O’Shea’s face burned dark red with fury. His teeth gritted and his fists clenched. Paul thought O’Shea might attack him, and if he did, Paul would take whatever beating was handed out. He deserved it, every second of it.

Wishing O’Shea would hit him so he could be punished for leading Keren into this nightmare, he said, “All I know is what Caldwell said on the phone. We were just off the phone with him when Higgins called us with his address. He was making Rosita scream. We had to come.”

“You should have waited for backup,” O’Shea roared.

Paul shouted back, “We couldn’t wait for backup while he was killing her.”

“So you disregarded procedure,” O’Shea growled.

Paul shoved O’Shea hard. “And saved Rosita’s life.” He knew he was asking for a fist right in the face. He knew it was what he wanted—deserved.

O’Shea shoved back but didn’t take a swing. “And now Keren’s gone, and Caldwell is still on the loose!”

“I know,” Paul roared as he clenched his fists and shoved his face right up to O’Shea’s. “But we’ve still got a chance to stop him.” “What chance to stop him? Stop him from doing what?” Paul’s head dropped with the weight of his fear. “On the phone, he said … he said …”

“What did he say?”

“He insisted on talking to Keren. He said she was next.” “Next? Next for what?” O’Shea demanded. “What did he say?” “He said Keren is his choice for the plague of darkness.”

P
ravus hummed as he drove. Three days. Darkness had to fall for three days.

He wondered if he could be so patient. The beast was prowling, hungry, but he’d soon be fed. This time they’d make it a long, slow meal.

The pretty Kerenhappuch was so tempting. He’d thought Rosita was his most beautiful treasure so far, but he’d expected more time with her. How had the reverend found him so fast? The phone in the apartment would have been hard to trace. But the reverend had figured out where he was somehow.

He’d be more careful about calling this time.

He focused instead on the beauty of his newest conquest. He thought he heard movement in the trunk. The thrill of the power he had over her was so heady he almost swerved the car. But he had everything under complete control. He went to the third and last building he’d prepared.

He realized then that until now he’d thought it would be enough to bring the plagues down on the reverend and kill him. It would complete his work.

But now he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

When he moved on after the reverend’s death, he’d have to start over.

More blood.

More bugs.

More darkness.

More power.

He hummed as he thought of it.

Keren awakened to complete darkness. Her head throbbed. She was disoriented by the vibrations around her and her inability to move … and the dark.

The plague of darkness.

This was it. The nightmare she’d been chasing after all this time had caught her.

Panic rose in her chest, and she fought to move her arms and legs. She screamed, but her mouth was covered and no sound came out. She fought with the violence of a trapped animal for long moments, rolling in the confined space, her bound feet kicking out at anything they touched.

Tears stung her eyes and a low-pitched whine, deep in her throat, accompanied the tears. Sobs, muted behind the gag, wrenched her body.

Think!
She had to quit wasting time. She closed her eyes, and, drawing on every ounce of her willpower, she shut out the pain and the discomfort of her contorted joints and began to use her head.

First, prayer. When she had enough control over herself to pray, the rest was easy. God was in control. They had saved Rosita because it wasn’t her time. Keren knew she would live or die by God’s will, not Caldwell’s.

That’s when she felt it. The evil. Pravus. She had been feeling him all along; his overwhelming evil had added to her terror.

Now she knew what it was and she could face it.

I am in Your hands, Lord. Let it be according to Your will
.

She tested her arms. Tied together. Her feet the same. She lifted her hands, which were bound in front of her, and touched her face. She had some kind of a scratchy hood over her head. There was a smooth cool strip around the hood over her mouth. She recognized the feel of duct tape. She struggled with it. Her fingers were taped together until they couldn’t move, but she could rub at the tape, and finally it slipped below her mouth. Now she could talk. Cry out for help. But she couldn’t get the hood off, so the darkness remained.

The rev of a motor and the smell of gasoline told her she was in a car. The trunk.

She rubbed her leg against the floor of the trunk. Since they’d been fighting Caldwell, she had begun to wear a hide-out gun strapped to her ankle. It was still there. She curled up and tried to get at the gun with her taped hands.

She thought of all the victims. The autopsy suggested that he’d begun painting with his victim’s blood right from the first. Keren’s stomach quailed at the thought of Caldwell’s brutality and the horrible vulnerability of being in his power. Tears cut like acid across her eyes. She fought for control. She drowned out the fear with prayers for courage and faith no matter what she faced.

The car slowed. She rolled backward and knew she was on an incline. Muted sounds reminded her of her car in the police parking garage. They were parking. Caldwell had reached his destination.

She tugged against her binding one last time, scrabbled at the hood with no effect. When she was sure there was nothing she could do, she accepted it. Then she gathered herself for what was to come. The car stopped. The door opened and closed. The trunk popped open over her head.

“Hello, Kerenhappuch. Welcome to
pestis ex tenebrae
. The plague of darkness.”

Keren screamed. Behind the hood she shrieked with every bit of her strength. “Help! Call the police!” A hand clamped over her mouth.

Caldwell leaned close. “You can scream all you want. I’m only shutting you up so you can hear me explain. We’re in a completely private place. Now I’ll let you go back to your screaming so you’ll believe me.”

Somehow, whether from the certainty of his voice or an assurance from God, Keren believed him. “I suppose I did enough of it. If there’s anyone around to hear, the police will be on their way.”

“Yes,” Caldwell said in his crooning voice. “And if there’s no one to hear, you might as well spare further strain on your throat.”

Keren knew that with every passing moment she was being pulled deeper into Caldwell’s web. For now, there were no reasons to fight. She simply lay still and waited.

She was lifted out of the car. Her head hit the trunk lid and her legs scraped across rough metal as he struggled to drag her out. Her cop’s brain started filing information. He wasn’t overly strong. He wasn’t a big man. He set her on her feet briefly and steadied her with one hand while he slammed the trunk shut. He leaned close to her while he reached for the lid. He didn’t smell like a homeless man. She’d deliberately brushed her hand against his face. He had a short, stubbly beard. She tried to match that description with the pictures Higgins had taken. Murray had no beard. Except she hadn’t seen him lately and the picture was over a week old. He could have stubble like this.