Ten Plagues

Delighted with his inventiveness, savoring the strength he’d honed his muscles to for just this purpose, Pravus waited, bided his time, picked his moment, and disposed of Melody.

When he was finished and back home, the satisfaction faded more quickly than it had before. Though he’d enjoyed it, the beast was starving. He looked around at what he’d created—his children, his people—and wanted them to be free. The reverend had stood in the way of their freedom and now he had to suffer.

He’d loitered at the mission and knew word was spreading that people connected to the Lighthouse were being targeted. And he could see the results of the warnings. No one walked alone except the mindless street people, and they weren’t who he wanted.

But neither was Melody Fredericks. Even though it had been brief, he’d gotten surcease from the appetite of the beast.

So he wasn’t going to be allowed to stalk and wait and choose with the care he preferred. That was a pity, because of them all, this was his favorite so far. The steady killing he’d done in the park. He’d spent days preparing for the plague of beasts. This gave him many chances to kill.

Accepting that wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. Even God had to compromise to achieve freedom for His people. Pravus compromised now because he needed someone new.

He needed someone now.

Paul spent so many hours being grilled, he almost turned into a T-bone.

He had never heard of Melody Fredericks. He’d never met her. He’d never seen her. He’d never eaten at her restaurant. The mission had never gotten a contribution from her.

Nothing.

When he wasn’t being questioned, he was poring over his old cases.

Keren filed her incident report and had a long talk with her lieutenant. She came out quiet, her blue-gray eyes more ghostly than usual.

“How’d it go?”

She sat down at her desk. “Later. I want to go over these files again.”

His interrogation, her interrogation, endless paperwork to comb, and through it all he kept thinking, Pestis ex culex. Plague of gnats. Then, Pestis ex rana. Plague of frogs. He could still feel those frogs crawling around inside his shirt.

He kept in touch with the hospital by phone. Every time he called he felt more detached from LaToya and his work as a pastor and more attached and comfortable as a cop. The drive to solve this crime and save Melody Fredericks overcame any need he felt to sit with LaToya. She was unconscious. She needed someone there, maybe. The doctors said talking to her might help. But why him? He’d forgotten how important police work was. All those years since his wife and daughter had died, he’d battered himself about how he’d put his job first. But back then he’d had a child who needed him. Now he had no one except the people he could save by catching a killer.

Anyone could sit at the bedside of an unconscious woman. Only he knew his cases and his people from the mission well enough to cross-reference the two groups and find the killer.

He didn’t get back to the hospital all day and it didn’t matter, because LaToya didn’t wake up. They returned to the ICU waiting area at ten o’clock that night. Paul glanced at Keren walking beside him. She must think she was doing guard duty. As she strode along, even her walk screamed cop—impressive, considering the argument she lost just last night with a sedan. Purposeful, fast, long strides, going somewhere. Paul was walking just like her.

Rosita was waiting in the intensive care lounge.

“How many hours have you spent here today?” Paul settled into a utilitarian gray chair in the waiting room and caught himself fidgeting, impatient with the long, wasted night ahead. Giving himself a mental shake, he groped around for peace, and it proved elusive.

“I didn’t count.” Rosita rose from the chair where she’d sat reading.

His conscience pinged. “I didn’t mean for you to end up sitting here all day.”

“It don’t matter.” Rosita frowned. “LaToya is still unconscious.”

Paul leaned forward in the chair beside Rosita. “I’m not worrying about LaToya—well, that’s not true, I am—but I’m talking about you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being taken advantage of.”

Rosita waved a book in the air. “C’mon, Pastor P, I been sittin’ readin’ all day. Closest I ever come to a vacation. It was great.”

Paul relaxed. “I really appreciate it. I just don’t want her to wake up and be all alone.”

“I know how it is to be alone. I’m glad to do it.” Rosita stood and began to pull on a jacket that lay in a chair nearby.

“You’re not going home alone, are you?” Paul stood, ready to hold her there by force if necessary.

“She’s not if that’s Manny.” Keren pointed toward the exit.

Rosita looked down the long hospital hallway and lit up when she saw a man standing at the end. “Manny said he’d come and sit with me when he got done with work today.”

Paul waved at the silhouette, and Rosita hurried off with a wide grin on her face.

“You’re a nice man, Pastor P.” Keren settled into a chair beside him.