| |
THE MIDDAY SUN BURNED bright outside the small primitive hut that Bianca now called home. Thin, bony fingers reached out from the shadows turning the voodoo doll in all directions. Large green eyes began to glow red as the hatred took over her body. A sinister smile formed on her face.
She moved the doll’s arms to the highest position until they were way above its head, then lowered to reach out in front as if in a pleading application. This was how she imagined Dominic sitting in front of her, begging and pleading for his miserable life.
Hard, strong fingers gripped the waist of the doll, almost squeezing him in two before relaxing. Next, she took a pin and dipped it into a small bowl of blood and pushed it deep into the voodoo doll’s chest, making sure to avoid any internal organs. This ritual was repeated four more times. Blood began to ooze from the doll. A maniacal laughter filled the small room as she imagined Dominic St. Germaine falling to the floor in agony.
Finally, she slowly pushed the pin covered in blood and her special potion into his heart as she recited her incantation.
***
AS SOON AS DOMINIC felt the first tightening in his chest, he dropped to his knees and said the Hail Mary. By the time the guards heard his guttural screams of agony, they were too late. They stood back in horror and watched as the man grabbed his chest and fell to the floor dead.
At the neighboring women’s correctional facility, Teresa Scarcelli suffered the same fate moments later.