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HE WALKED QUIETLY TO where Bianca was preparing for tonight’s ritual. As he neared the small clearing, the sound of beating drums and chanting filled the still night air. The air throbbed with the beat of the batri playing and the ground vibrated with the force of the pounding feet.
A while back, Bianca asked if she could invite several of her voodoo friends from New York to come down and help her perform her black magic. She trusted these people and they would be beneficial in helping her achieve what he wanted. They had slowly made their way down south and set up camp in the back of the plantation. He allowed them to renovate the old slave cabins so that they could live here and stay out of the public’s eye.
They had made themselves at home here. They even raised white chickens for their sacrificial rituals. He had seen several priests and priestesses roaming the grounds at night.
As the sound of the drumbeat picked up, he knew the voodoo ritual was about to begin. The pungent smell of burning wood stung his nostrils. The plume of lavender colored smoke rose in the air marking the site of her altar. As he got closer to where the ritual would be performed, he felt the spike of energy that charged the air. His whole body seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the drums. His muscles jumped to the beat of the tambourines, flutes, and rattles.
In the darkness of the night, black candles flickered. Coach William Johnson was secured tightly to the ground by stakes. He would soon learn the risks of gambling and dealing with the Mafia. He laid there unblinking, frozen in fear and watched as the voodoo priestess walked around him chanting. She wore an eerie mask that resembled a human skull, minus the lower jaw and topped with a spray of feathers.
When she spun, it started out slow, but became faster. The dark side of voodoo completely intrigued him. He wondered how she could turn as fast as she did. He wasn’t sure if it was even humanly possible to do what she was doing or if some spirit had taken over her body as she suggested.
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EVERYTHING AROUND HIM seemed to happen in slow motion. He knew his death was near, and he could not stop what was happening to him. If only he could go back in time and play the game honestly. What would the fans say when they learned of his deceit? Would they be able to forgive him for his betrayal? Would his team forgive him for his treachery as well?
As the priestess rubbed a substance on his bare chest, fear trickled down his spine, freezing his very blood. He felt a fire burn deep inside of him as his breathing slowed. Near his head, she shook her ason, a gourd filled with snake vertebrae to honor the Great Serpent spirit who was referred to as Danbala.