All the livestock of the Egyptians died.
Did they really think they could stop him?
Pravus went through his daily routine just as he always had, but his eyes were always open, always hunting. He saw several that would have done. He’d watch them go in and out of the mission, and it was like they called to him, Stop me, in voices that only he could hear. Stop me, please, before I do more harm to the world.
They cried out to him as always, but today the only ones who were alone were the bag ladies. The beast inside him growled and paced, demanding to be let out. Pravus knew the bag ladies wouldn’t be enough, not for long, but he felt as if the beast would start eating him, chewing his insides until he was consumed, if he didn’t feed this need to kill.
He washed dishes because it kept his hands in the water and no one could see them shaking. He couldn’t shave, because his hands trembled until he thought he might cut his throat. The result was his false, full beard didn’t stick as well to his face. He worried constantly that it might slip. His own beard wasn’t gray and it was so thin it didn’t disguise his appearance at all. Even with the plastic surgery and tinted contacts and lifts in his shoes, he was afraid the reverend might recognize him.
He was spending less and less time here. He didn’t want to look the reverend or the pretty detective in the eye—afraid he wouldn’t be able to conceal his triumph. So he ducked out when he could and was careful to make sure neither of them was around when he came back.
Normally he helped with the cooking, but he kept feeling the beast erupt. The thrill, the pleasure, the power of being out of control with a butcher knife in his hand was enough to make him avoid food preparation. He washed dishes and listened. He’d overheard several of the women working out a schedule to never go out alone, even discussing moving in together temporarily. The urge to kill grew in him like volcanic pressure.
He saw a woman leave alone and it drew him out of his rage. She didn’t suit him. She was the wrong type to sate his hunger. But he couldn’t wait any longer. He felt like he’d explode into a killing rampage in front of everyone if he didn’t put a stop to the evil around him. And if he exploded, well, he was too smart to be caught, but he’d have to give up this masquerade that kept him close enough to watch the reverend.
The plague of boils was next. He had it all arranged. Not as much killing as the plague of beasts, but he’d inflict plenty of pain. And all the while he’d imagine it was his father.
Pravus caught himself. He hadn’t meant that. He’d meant the reverend. He’d imagine it was the reverend he was killing.
The beast snarled at him for making that slip. They both owed everything to his father.
Impatience finally goaded him into going after her. He’d still be hungry when he’d taken her, but she’d be an appetizer. He’d be done with the plague of beasts after tonight. He couldn’t resist getting someone new. She’d do for now, but the feast was yet to come.
He followed her out.
Paul was afraid to lead the way on anything for a while, mainly because he was afraid to turn his back on Keren. So he let Keren go in first. The laboratory was as clean and sterile as any doctor’s office.
Clean and sterile was where the resemblance to anything normal ended. The young woman who greeted them fit with the disturbing supplies this place sold.
“Hi, I’m Frodo.” She spoke around a wad of gum. And it was the name printed on her name tag. Frodo Baggins. Paul wondered if she’d had it legally changed, her mother had actually named her that, or the name tag was whimsical.
“I’m an intern.” She had enough rings pierced into her eyebrows to hang a shower curtain.
“We need a look at your shipping files.” Keren tapped the badge on her belt, right next to her gun.
Frodo looked at the paper Keren produced and couldn’t have been more cooperative.
In fact, she was so eager to help, Paul wondered if she had a rap sheet. He decided to run her name on NCIC when he got back to the station. With a stab of dismay, he realized he was thinking like a cop—again. He should have been inviting her to church, not wondering if he could bust her on outstanding warrants.
Frodo let them come around to look at her computer screen while she called up the shipping files. She scrolled down while they read.
“Stop!” Keren grabbed Frodo’s hand.
“Pravus Spiritu.” Keren looked at Paul.
“We’ve got all his orders shipped.” Frodo pointed to the address.
“Let me see what all he’s getting.” Keren leaned closer. “Flies, gnats, frogs, and a whole lotta locusts.”
“He planned for us to find him. He deliberately used his name.” Keren jabbed at the screen. “Do you have a manager, or are you running this place single-handedly?” She did her best to intimidate the young woman.
It worked.
“Yes ma’am. Howie, uh… that is, Mr. Guthrie, is in back taking a break. I’ll get him right out here.” She disappeared through a door.
Keren said, “Dilated pupils.”
“I smelled weed.” Paul looked at the shipping address. It was the building where they’d found Caldwell’s paintings. “Pravus Spiritu.”
“You used both those words earlier when you told me what pravus meant,” Keren remembered. “Spiritu, ‘spirit. Evil spirit.’“
“The guy is nothing if not honest.”
Howard Guthrie, early thirties, prematurely bald, wearing dress pants and a tie under his buttoned-up lab coat, looked a lot more like a scientist than Frodo did. Keren greeted him with a firm handshake and asked for his cooperation. He seemed to get the point instantly that his cooperation was only a formality. They were going through his files. Period.
Paul said, “We need a printout of his file—everything you’ve got.”
Frodo leaned her body fully against Howie to watch the monitor while he typed. “I’m the one who talked to him. He’s a pretty weird dude.”
Paul wondered if this kid was a good judge of weird.
“Weird how?” Keren asked.
“Oh, just the way he fussed about the orders, like the bugs were gonna be house pets or something. And he was very specific about the address and the time of delivery. He made me read it back to him twice to make sure I’d gotten them right. I got the idea he was just obsessive in general, and it didn’t have that much to do with these shipments.”
“What’s going on?” Guthrie asked.
Paul arched an eyebrow at Keren. He’d let her decide how much to tell.
“Have you read the paper?” Keren asked. “About the serial killer and the plagues he’s acting out? Frogs, flies, gnats? None of this rings a bell?”
“I heard about it, yes.” Guthrie’s brows arched in alarm. “You mean those flies and gnats and frogs were ours? That’s what he used them for?”
“Yes, and the locusts are coming up.”
“Whoa, creepy,” the intern said.
Paul got the impression the punkette thought this was all real cool, and it took a wrestling match to keep his temper under control. He leaned toward Frodo. Keren stepped between him and the girl. She probably thought he was going to go ballistic. She was probably right.
“We’ll be sending someone around to talk with you. We’ll put a trace on your phone in case he calls back. You’ve talked to this guy. We have a profiler who will want to interrogate you.”
“Hey, I don’t know nothin’ about him.”
“You know he’s fussy. You’ve heard his voice. You’re one of the few people we’ve found who’s had actual contact with him who’s still alive.”
“I’m not talking to the police. You can’t make me.” Frodo crossed her arms.
“We can make you.” Paul took a step around Keren. “If you don’t, that makes you an accessory to murder.”
“Hey, I didn’t know anything about any murder.” She backed away until she could duck behind Guthrie.
“You do now.” Paul’s voice was cold, pure cop. “To withhold information that could lead to his arrest makes you an accessory—an accessory after the fact to murder. You could do serious jail time for that, understand?”
“I’ll see to it that I’m in charge of all phone orders until this is over,” Mr. Guthrie said. “And we’ll both cooperate with the police any way you ask.”
“Howie, what’s the deal?” The intern slid her hand up Howie’s arm.
Mr. Guthrie patted the hand. “We’ll be fine.”
Keren and Paul exchanged a long look, then Keren nodded her head. “We’d appreciate it. He’s kidnapped another woman.”
“And she’s going to be found dead,” Paul added. “Killed by this maniac.”
“And covered with my locusts?” Mr. Guthrie swallowed hard.
“No, he’s not up to that yet. Right now he’s reenacting the plague of beasts,” Paul said brusquely.
The two “scientists” looked suitably sickened.