Mary Nealy - Ten Plagues

“And he said I should come back? Is he coming to take a turn sitting with…” Rosita fell silent and looked uncertainly at the ICU again.

Pravus picked up her jacket and helped the gullible little fool slip it on. “Yes, in fact, we may pass him on the way out.”

Pravus gestured toward the door politely, his heart thudding with excitement as sweet Rosita walked out of the hospital by his side. He wanted to take her arm, touch her in some way. He controlled himself. There would be time for that soon. Plenty of time. He led her to a dark green car parked near the entrance.

Rosita said, “What happened to this car? It looks like a bullet hole in the back window.”

Pravus shrugged. “I’m just borrowing it. It’s a tough neighborhood. I suppose that’s exactly what happened.”

Rosita, despite all the warnings she’d been given, accepted the easy lie. Pravus felt laughter welling up in his throat. He fought it down, his hands sweating until they left wet spots on the steering wheel. He drove away from the hospital.

“I have to make a quick stop on the way back,” Pravus said. “Pastor P asked if, since we have the car today, could we pick up some things that have been donated to the mission. Do you mind helping me carry them out?”

Rosita said pleasantly, “I’d be glad to help.”

A few minutes later, he pulled into a parking garage. His parking garage. His new home.

“You’re really a good driver,” Rosita observed. “When have you had a chance to drive in the city?”

Pravus parked the car and got out. As he waited for her, he said, “I drove when I was younger. I guess it’s like riding a bike.”

“This is a wreck of a building.” They walked to the elevator and got in. Pravus pushed the button and they went up. When they got to the top floor, he got off and went to the closest door.

“They’re demolishing it. I guess that’s why they’re giving things away.” He produced a key and let himself in.

“Why do you have a key to this apartment?” Rosita said.

Pravus heard her nervousness and his hands itched to grab her, make that tinge of fear bloom into screaming terror. He let the door swing open. “I have the key because the apartment is mine.”

A bug ran out of the apartment and Rosita squeaked and jumped back. “What is that? A cockroach?”

“It’s a locust.”

Rosita looked inside just as Pravus’s hand rested on her back. He’d written the words PESTUS EX LOCUSTA in giant letters on the far wall so she could see them from here and know.

Once it was too late.

He shoved her inside and kicked the door shut.

“I will bring locusts into your country tomorrow. They will cover the face of the ground so that it cannot be seen. They will devour what little you have left.”

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.