EXODUS 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 MUTE OFF 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?”