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.”
CHAPTER TWENTY–FIVE
Pravus 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.
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.
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
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.
Louie. Who’d killed his wife.
Maybe.
Buddy.
She’d seen pictures, read the police description.
Casey-Ray and McGwire had full beards in those pictures. But if they were disguising themselves as homeless, who knew? They could have shaved or worn a fake beard.
His breathing hissed, and she knew from the sound that he was about four inches taller than her. That made him five nine or ten. His hands were uncalloused. He was slender and of a slight build. She refused to believe it was Roger. She’d met him. She knew it wasn’t him. And Murray helped with the preaching. Keren would hate it if it was
