Gerry was in the same position: still as death. She looked even paler and thinner. It was as if the life were oozing out of her body drop by drop. He placed his hand upon her forehead, feeling the cold clamminess of her skin under his fingers. It had been a few days, and her brown hair felt dirty and oily as he rubbed it away from her face. He had the urge to carry her to the bathroom and give her a full shower.
His eye caught something glittering at her neck and he slipped his finger under the collar of her dress to feel a string of beads. At the end of the strand was a large silver cross, not a cross actually, a crucifix. He snorted in derision.
“Got that egg, boyo?” Mére spoke in her high-pitched voice, though the sound was slightly hoarse from sleep.
“Come on, you know she’s a believer. Or at least she was at one time, and true believers never stop. They just become dormant, so to speak.”
With a heavy breath, he turned to the black woman and nodded. “Yes, the egg’s in the kitchen. She gave me a funny face, so I made her get me another one. I hope it’s right.”
He heard her rummaging in the kitchen. She reentered the room carrying the egg casually in a single hand, swinging that arm from side-to-side. He grimaced, recalling how careful he walked all the way back to the apartment with it tucked protectively in his palm.
“‘Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.’” She quoted then chortled with laughter as she winked at him.
“What the hell does that mean? What contagion? She has an infection?” Nicky demanded, clasping Gerry’s limp hand and rising from the bed.
“Ahahahah! I thought you were more up to date on your Shakespeare, my boy. Now, let’s see what we have here.” As she spoke, Mére rolled the blankets to Gerry’s waist and raised the still woman’s clothing so that her bare stomach showed.
Nicky settled back onto the edge of the bed and watched as the voodoo woman placed the egg onto his wife’s stomach and then rolled it around like she was kneading dough into a ball. The same French-like incantations emitted from the woman’s lips as she moved the brown egg round and round in circles. After just a few minutes, she scooped up the egg, slipped the blood-red scarf from around her head and carefully folded it within the silky folds.
Gerry Hinton thought she had the perfect career as an operative for the Company. Her next assignment should have been another “mission accomplished”, but hell was delivering hand baskets that day.
When a little girl gives a mysterious silver box to Gerry, her world self-destructs. Suddenly under constant mental attacks, the only person who can save her is her partner, Nicky–but nothing comes without a cost. Secrets buried deep in the past begin to rise, threatening everything she holds dear.
If she can’t out run her past, can she save her future?
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