Ten Plagues (41 page)

Caldwell raised his hand to strike her.

“Do you know you can’t even lay a hand on me unless God allows it?” Keren asked. “Good is stronger than evil, Pravus. God is stronger than Satan. You think you are victorious when you kill a woman, but God is in charge. He can slap you down with a single wave of His hand, if He chooses.”

“Then why doesn’t He? Why will He stand by and let me kill you, like I’ve killed all the others, if He’s so good?”

Keren tried to calm her voice. “That is something I have to deal with every day on my job. I’ve finally made peace with the simple fact that bad things happen because the earth is the earth. We are human beings with human failings. If we want perfection, we have to go to heaven to find it. God’s main work is in our souls. And He’s in my soul, Pravus. Even if you batter my body, even if you kill me, I’ll still be fine, because I’m a believer in Jesus Christ.”

Keren remembered Paul’s constant comfort. “To live is Christ and to die is gain.”

Caldwell used his chisel to run a slit the length of Keren’s other sleeve. The rip of the fabric would soon be replaced with cuts to her flesh. “Then you should thank me, Kerenhappuch.”

“Thank you? Why?” Keren felt her sleeve fall open.

“Because you are about to gain.”

“We’re doing this one right,” Higgins snapped as they raced toward the location the tracking device registered. “If you had waited, Morris, Detective Collins wouldn’t be in his hands, and Caldwell would be in custody!”

Paul sat beside Higgins in the dark, government-issue sedan. “We couldn’t know that. If you had heard Rosita—”

“Look, you’re too emotionally involved to use your brain on this one, that’s why you’ve got to let me take charge. I’ve got cars en route. Some of them might be there already.”

“Then send them in,” Paul said with a surge of hope. “Maybe he hasn’t hurt her yet.”

“They will
not
go in. Not until I order it. We set up a perimeter. We close off any escape routes. We do this right, and Caldwell doesn’t slip away to kill again!”

“And how long is Keren at his mercy while you make sure all your Is are dotted?”

“I don’t know,” Higgins said with vicious sarcasm. “Why don’t you tell me? You’re the one who let him get his hands on her!”

O’Shea said from the backseat, “It was all a setup from the beginning—the pitch dark, the escape route he used. When we finish tearing that place apart, we’ll find he built a secret door somewhere as an escape hatch. If they hadn’t gone in when they did, Caldwell would have disappeared with Rosita, and we’d be no better off than we are now.”

Paul looked over his shoulder at O’Shea. The man was like a rock in the middle of Higgins’s condemnation and Paul’s panic. O’Shea, who knew Keren better and had loved her longer than any of them.

“You’ve got to be crazy to be able to stay so calm,” Paul said to the grizzled veteran of countless manhunts.

“Yeah, I guess that could describe me. But the thing that’s keeping me from acting like a complete jerk”—he threw a fiery look at Higgins—”is Keren. Keren isn’t a woman to be at anyone’s mercy.”

Paul ran his hands through his hair and tried to get a handle on the careening images in his head. Keren cut. P
ESTIS EX TENEBRAE
painted onto a death shroud. Keren trapped somewhere in the spirit-sapping dark, as he had been for those few minutes with Rosita.

Keren.

Paul remembered who he was dealing with. He looked over his shoulder and, unbelievably, found he could smile at O’Shea. “You know what she’s doing right now?”

Higgins raced his car through the busy Chicago traffic, leading a parade of five other dark sedans—sirens shrieking, lights flashing.

O’Shea grinned back. “Sure I know what she’s doing,” he said with a laugh. “Man, nothing gets the best of my little girl for long.”

“What are you laughing for?” Higgins growled. “What about any of this is amusing?”

“It’s not amusing, and if you think I’m not scared to death for her, then you’re a fool, Higgins,” O’Shea said without venom.

“Then what do you mean?” Higgins directed his question at Paul. “What is she doing right now?”

Paul rubbed his hands over his face to keep from smiling again because it was so wrong to smile. “Our little, helpless, kidnapping victim is trying to save Francis Caldwell’s soul.”

“I can lead you to the Lord, Francis. I can pray with you and you can have rest for your soul.”

“My soul is dead. Long ago.” Caldwell cut from the gaping sleeve hole all the way to her collar, then he circled the table to do it again on the other side.

“No, Francis, every man has an immortal soul, put there by God, that exists to love and serve God. ‘As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.’ It’s the nature of every human soul to long for God. You long for God, Francis. You are thirsty for Him.”

Caldwell slit more fabric on her shirt. Keren said with all the intensity in her Christian spirit, “I don’t believe I would feel the demon in you if there wasn’t hope. Francis, look at me!”

By the sheer force of her will, she brought his eyes around. He saw her. She knew Francis, not Pravus for this one instant, was in control and listening.

From her position of absolute helplessness, she said, “I’ll help you, Francis. I’ll stay with you. I’ll stay by your side through all that is to come.”

“And you can protect me from the police?” Francis asked bitterly.

“No.” Keren wasn’t going to lie to him. “No, Francis. When you get rid of the demon, you will still have to face up to all the harm you’ve done, because you’ve always had a choice. The demon in you has only had the power over you that you’ve given him. So they’ll lock you up, and you’ll find out that prison walls don’t keep God out. You can be a Christian anywhere.”

Francis looked at her, listening.

Keren said gently, “I can see your thirst, Francis. Let me go. Let me tell you about my Savior. There is joy for you in this life, Francis. How long has it been since you’ve felt a moment’s joy? There is peace and love and victory—true power, Francis.”

Francis’s eyes flickered and his breathing became uneven. She could see the struggle in him, but she fervently believed what she said. If there was no hope, then she wouldn’t have been given this gift of discernment. She prayed silently, not for her own safety,

but for Francis’s soul.

He laid his hand in hers, where it was bound.

“He loves you, Francis. God loves you, and I love you. That’s why I’m here, to tell you He loves you.”

Suddenly Francis’s hand gripped hers with violent strength.

Then, with a sudden slashing movement, her hand was free. Francis reached across her and unbound her other hand. He released her feet with a final slash of his chisel and handed the sharp metal tool to her.

“This is crazy. I’m crazy.” His whole body trembled violently. “The demon has made me into a monster. Stop me.”

Keren sat up. “Let’s pray together.”

As she prayed, Keren saw darkness seep out of him from every pore. The darkness fought to hold him. Francis held her with his gaze. She prayed fiercely as the demon that had Francis in his grip began to take shape and twist as it rose in the air. A low wail of tormented agony erupted from the black cloud that filled the room. It built and built until Keren wanted to cover her ears from the shriek of fury. The evil wrapped itself around her throat.

The shriek turned to a roar and a window shattered as the black cloud streaked away and vanished.

“It’s gone. I felt the weight lift off me.”

“Yes, it’s gone. Now we need to pray. You need to accept Jesus into your heart. Simply believe in Him to have eternal life.”

His hand tightened on hers. The power of being set free didn’t gleam in his eyes like it should. “Without the demon, I can see clearly for the first time in years, and all I can see is an evil world—a father who couldn’t love me.”

“But
God
loves you. You can’t have lived through what just happened here and not believe in Him. God has shown Himself to you.”

“Yes, He has.” A smile twisted Francis’s lips. “And God took away all my strength.”

“Francis, it’s important that you turn to God.” Keren thought of the verse that said if a demon left a man but God did not enter in, then more demons would return, more powerfully than ever. “You can’t deny His love. You’ve experienced it in a beautiful way.”

“I did experience it. I do believe it. But I don’t accept.” Francis jerked as if something—or someone—struck him.

“Francis, no, listen to me. Listen to God.” Whatever went on inside of Francis, she had to fight her way past it to reach him.

“I liked myself.” Francis’s voice changed again. His eyes gleamed until Keren could see the flames burning in his soul.

“It’s my choice, and I
don’t
choose the path your God has for me.” He reached for her.

Keren threw herself backward, diving off the table. She landed with a
thud
on her neck and shoulder. She rolled to her feet as Francis rounded the table, a roar of evil joy coming from him.

He slammed into her. They both reeled backward. The apartment wall kept her on her feet. She ran for the door.

Francis was on her, knocking her to the floor. He landed all his weight on her back. Flipping her over, he straddled her stomach. His hands closed on her throat. She knocked his grip away with an upward sweep of her arms, caught the front of his shirt, and rolled, throwing him over her head. On her feet instantly, she turned just as he charged forward and backed her into the wall. His hands tightened on her neck.

She caught his wrists to take the pressure off her windpipe. He wasn’t that big. She was trained in self-defense.

He bore down on her. She pushed against the strangling grip. Fighting to draw in a breath, she used every ounce of her strength against him. With a sudden twist, she broke his grip and shoved him sideways. His head hit the wall with a stunning
crack
.

She dived away from him, clawing at her ankle holster. She pulled the gun free and brought it up just as Francis grabbed the chisel that had fallen to the floor. He hurled it at her with the same deadly accuracy he’d used on LaToya.

The razor-sharp chisel hit her arm. The stabbing pain made her drop the gun.

Francis was already on it, raising it with a wicked laugh.

The door behind them flew open. Francis turned, his gun’s aim shifting. Higgins was the first in the door. Keren dropped to the floor as Higgins fired.

Francis’s body jerked and staggered into a wall. Higgins fired again. The smell of sulfur was like brimstone, overwhelming everything in the room.

Paul ran into the room. Keren noticed he had her gun, the one Francis had knocked out of her hand when they’d found Rosita, tucked in his waistband. O’Shea was right behind him with his sidearm out and ready.

Francis sank to his knees, clutching his bleeding chest. Blood poured from two bullet wounds. He turned to look into Keren’s eyes, the evil fading.

Keren ignored the chisel in her arm and crawled to his side. “It’s not too late.”

“Yes, it is.” Francis’s chest was soaked and red. He slid sideways against the wall until he slumped onto his back. “I made my choice. I lived with it, and I’ll die with it.” A look of horror crossed over his face as if now he was realizing just what his choice meant for him, for all eternity.

“Francis, please, listen to me.”

Suddenly Francis’s eyes popped open, and a look of pure satisfied evil was on his flaccid face. A voice, deep and ugly, came from Francis, even though his mouth didn’t move and his chest had quit rising and falling.

“Francis isn’t here.”

Paul lifted Keren away from the dead man and pulled her into his arms.

“Be careful of her arm,” O’Shea shouted.

Higgins was calling for an ambulance.

Paul carefully picked her up and strode out of the room.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried.

K
eren still couldn’t stand the thought of going back to her apartment, and she hadn’t had any luck finding a new one, so she worked all day and kept long hours at night with LaToya. The coma wasn’t as deep as before and LaToya occasionally stirred and responded to sound without fully waking up, but Keren hoped and prayed it would happen soon.