Voodoo, Lies, and Murder

by Sibel Hodge

  I handed him the money. "See you in a minute."

  He nodded and I drove round to the car park. I pulled apart a steaming piece of chicken breast, inspecting it for signs of pretend breastiness. I took a sniff. Nope, it looked pretty real to me. I popped one in my mouth. Yum. I was halfway through them when Dad opened the passenger door and slid in, glancing around to make sure no one was around.

  "Here." He handed me a CD. "I was going through the CCTV tapes and I saw Steven meeting Chantal in the car park. I recognized her right away from the newspaper report about her disappearance."

  I swallowed a chunk of chicken and grinned. "When did this happen?"

  "The day she disappeared. It was seven p.m. and pretty dark, but you can still make it out clearly on the copy I burned for you. They met in the corner of the car park and had a heated chat about something, and then she got into Steven's car and drove out."

  "Well, well, well. Sneaky Steven. I knew he was hiding something." I wondered whether him meeting Chantal was a good thing or bad thing. Chantal wasn't on the list of donors for the Holbrook Clinic. Did that mean she was still alive for the time being? Hadn't they found a suitable recipient yet for her organs? Or did it mean that she wasn't being held by them at all? Had she disappeared for another reason entirely? If so, what was it? And what was the extent of Steven's involvement in all of this? "Is Steven here?"

  Dad shook his head. "He's on duty in a couple of hours."

  "I'll be back to have a word with him later, then, after I've checked it out." I took a slurp of shake. "Thanks, Dad."

  "You owe me one." He pointed a finger at me. "Tell your mother she can buy that hat and it will get her off my back."

  I offered him the packet of fries. "Fries?"

  "Not likely. They're only pretend potatoes."

  "What's wrong with everyone around here? Don't you appreciate good junk food when you see it?"

  Pink Hair came out of the restaurant and went round the back of the building for a smoke.

  "I've got to go." Dad climbed out of the car. "I'm pretty sure she's the one nicking the money." He leaned back inside. "Think about what I said."

  I chewed on my fries and nodded. Dad would move on to another case soon and Mum wouldn't have to deal with burger smells anymore, then they'd both forget about harassing me. I hoped.

  I finished off my breakfast and checked my mobile phone battery and reception. They were both working fine, so why hadn't Brad called? I phoned his mobile again.

  Voicemail.

  I phoned the house.

  No answer.

  I phoned Hacker. "Yo, has Brad come in yet?"

  "No. He hasn't rung in, either."

  "Where the hell is he, then?" A picture of the voodoo doll flashed in my head with the pin through its head.

  I was starting to get that horrible doomsday feeling again.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I floored the Toyota through town, breaking a few speed limits on the way home. I yanked the handbrake on, flung open the door, and was out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop.

  "Brad?" I called out in the lounge.

  No answer.

  I rushed into the kitchen.

  No sign of him. No breakfast dishes, either, and he always ate breakfast.

  Marmalade ran down the stairs, meowing at me.

  I scooped him up. "Where is he?"

  Marmalade blinked and meowed again. He jumped out of my arms and ran back up the stairs.

  I followed, taking them two at a time to our bedroom.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  Brad lay in bed, the sheets tangled around him. His eyes were shut, his breathing slow and labored, and he was shivering.

  For a moment I just stood there, rooted to the spot with fear and surprise. Then a tsunami of adrenaline took over and I ran to the bed. "Brad?"

  No response.

  I shook him gently. "Brad? What's wrong?"

  He moaned but didn't open his eyes or speak.

  That was when I noticed the rash on his chest.

  Shit. I knew what that meant. My heart seemed to stop pumping for a few seconds.

  Tears sprang into my eyes. "Brad? Can you hear me?" My voice came out croaky and high-pitched.

  No response.

  I think I let out a scream at that point, but it sounded like it was far off in the distance, as if the sound were coming from someone else.

  I punched in 999 on my mobile and called an ambulance.

  I went into full-scale panic mode as I waited for them to arrive. I stroked his head, which felt burning hot, and yet he was still shivering.

  Rushing to the bathroom, I soaked a flannel with cold water. I pressed it to his head and he made a gargling sound in the back of his throat.

  "It's okay, babe. I'm here." I choked back the tears. "The ambulance is on its way."

  His eyelids fluttered open and he stared at me with glassy eyes.

  "My…head…hurts," he croaked before falling unconscious again.

  My heart twisted inside. A guttural sob worked its way from my stomach up to my throat.

  This couldn't be happening. Brad never got ill. He was the fittest person I'd ever met—a roughty toughty, kick-ass ex-SAS guy. He'd done the toughest missions and always came out on top.

  I gripped his hand tight until I heard the ambulance pull up outside.

  Rushing down the stairs, I slipped, sliding down the last one, nearly falling on my ass.

  I ran to the door and let them in. "He's upstairs. Hurry!"

  Two paramedics followed me with bags of equipment.

  "I think he's got meningitis." I didn't want to say it out loud, but I had to. Saying it would make it true, and I couldn't bear to let it sink in. It was the voodoo curse. That fucking voodoo doll had done this. That was the only answer.

  I stood around helplessly, flapping my hands as they took his vital signs and asked me questions. They hooked him up to an IV drip and maneuvered him onto a stretcher.

  "Do you want to ride in the ambulance with us?" they asked as they loaded him into the back of it.

  "Yes," I cried, jumping on board.

  I reached out for his hand as the paramedic monitored him. "You'll be okay, Brad. I'm here."

  His eyelids fluttered but didn't open.

  My stomach lurched. I let out a whimper that sounded like an animal in pain. I was so scared that even the roots of my hair felt like they were trembling.

  You'll be fine, Brad. You're strong. You'll be better in no time. You have to be okay, we're getting married. I love you. I repeated that over and over in my head until we reached the hospital.

  As the paramedics wheeled him into the emergency room, my heart flip-flopped around.

  "Suspected meningitis," one of the paramedics said to a young male doctor who had rushed to meet us.

  "Take him to exam room one," the doctor said.

  Before I could worry about how young the doctor was and whether he could possibly be any good, since he looked about twelve, he said to me, "What symptoms did he have?"

  "Last night he was complaining about a sore neck. He was unconscious when I got back home this morning, although he woke up briefly and complained about his head hurting. And he's got a rash on his stomach," I said in a garbled rush as we all hurried along the corridor to an isolated examination room.

  It was all my fault. I should've known something was wrong when he didn't wake up as I got out of bed this morning. What if I'd got there too late? What if he d…d…no, I couldn't even think the D word. God, I'd been such an idiot wasting all this time. Sod all the messing around I'd been doing. Life was too short to spend worrying about whether I'd be happy with the person I loved. Life was for living the happiness right here and now. I was so going to marry him as soon as he got better.

  I wiped away tears with the heel of my hand as the paramedics transferred him from the stretcher to a bed.

  "Does he have any illnesses or allergies?" the doctor asked.


  "No." I shook my head, unable to tear my eyes away from Brad's pale face.

  Nurses rushed into the room, hooking Brad up to all kinds of monitors.

  "We need to do some tests," the doctor said to me, opening Brad's eyelids and shining a light in his eyes.

  "If you can have a seat in the waiting room, we'll take it from here," a matronly nurse said. "We'll let you know as soon as we have some news for you."

  I nodded blankly, letting out a huge gush of air that I hadn't even realized I'd been holding as she steered me carefully out the door.

  In the corridor, I leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to throw up. I needed air.

  It wasn't until I got outside and took huge gulps of it that I realized my heart was beating so hard my whole body was shaking. I paced the entrance, trying to get a grip as I attempted to phone Hacker with fumbling fingers. Three times I punched in the wrong number before I finally managed to get my fingers to cooperate with my brain.

  "Brad's in hospital," I said breathlessly as soon as he picked up. "I think he's got meningitis."

  "Shit. I'll be right there."

  I hung up and dialed Mum.

  "Amber, honey! How are you? Suzy's here at the—"

  "Mum," I wailed down the phone. "Brad's in hospital." I told her what had happened.

  "Okay, honey, don't worry," Mum, ever calm in a crisis, reassured me. "Brad's as fit as they come. I'm sure he'll pull through just fine. I'm coming down there now."

  "No, it's okay. There's nothing much you can do at the moment, and Hacker's on his way."

  "Are you sure?"

  My stomach did a weird swirly thing and I tried again not to throw up. I took a deep breath, steadying myself against the outside wall of the hospital. "I'm sure."

  "Well, is there anything else I can do?"

  "Yes. Go out and buy the damned hat." I knew it was a ridiculous thought, but I figured if mum bought the hat, then Brad would be okay.

  Ridiculous or not, that was the thought I was clinging to.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I sat next to Hacker in the waiting room, jiggling my leg up and down. The clock ticked away on the wall at what felt like a snail's pace.

  "I've been trying to get hold of Tia to tell her, but she's on her lunch break and not answering her phone," Hacker said.

  "It's okay. If you get hold of her, tell her not to come. There's nothing she can do and it's no fun sitting around hospitals, waiting for news."

  "Do you want some coffee?" Hacker asked, his panicked face mirroring how I felt.

  I shook my head. "What's taking them so long?" I looked at the clock again for the gazillionth time. Only an hour had passed, but it felt like a hundred.

  Hacker threw his arm around my shoulder. "He'll be okay. Brad's the toughest guy I know."

  I rested my head on him. "Of course. Of course he's going to be okay," I said with more confidence than I actually felt. "I think it was that bloody voodoo doll that cursed him."

  I felt Hacker stiffen at the mention of voodoo. "I told you this stuff wasn't to be messed with."

  "I was trying to find Chantal. Who knew it would all lead to this?" I sniffed.

  "I'm not blaming you. This isn't your fault."

  I pulled away, looking him straight in the eyes. "Hacker, can't you do some good voodoo to counteract the curse?"

  "A healing spell?"

  I nodded, biting my lip. "Why not? You can do healing reiki, so you're the perfect person, and you know how to do voodoo spells, don't you?" So what if I was always taking the piss out of Tia and her spells? So what if I didn't believe in all the hocus-pocus, heebie-jeebie shit? If ever there was a time to try it, it was now.

  "Yes, I know how to do it." Hacker nodded. "But if Marie really has cursed him, then my spells probably won't be strong enough to counteract hers."

  I gripped his arm tightly. "Please. Just do it. We have to at least try."

  "I'll need some of his hair, and I need to go home to make a voodoo doll to transfer the healing power to in a specific ritual."

  I rummaged around in my pocket. "Here's my key. You can get some hair from his comb."

  "Don't you want me to stay with you?"

  "No." I pulled him to his feet. "This is more important. Go." I pushed him toward the door.

  "I'll be back as soon as I've done it."

  I nodded and slumped down on the chair again, gnawing on my thumbnail and watching the hands of the clock tick around with intolerable slowness.

  Two hours later, the young doctor came into the waiting room.

  I leaped up. "How is he? What's happening?"

  A frown crinkled his brow.

  Uh-oh. That can't be a good sign.

  "We've performed some tests and they've confirmed he has got bacterial meningitis. We're administering high doses of antibiotics and fluids." He paused, looking uncomfortable.

  "What? Just tell me."

  "He has a lot of swelling in his brain tissue so we're also administering some steroids and other drugs to counteract the inflammation. At the moment he's still unconscious and his blood pressure is quite low. We're monitoring him constantly."

  "But he will recover, won't he?"

  Another pause.

  Stop fucking pausing and spit it out!

  "Meningitis can cause complications such as hearing loss, brain damage, paralysis, blindness, and…even death."

  I gasped. My hands flew to my mouth.

  No, no, no. This can't be happening. My mind jumped around all over the place, imagining the worst.

  "It's too early to tell if he will have any long-term effects from it, but you got him here in time. You may just have saved his life." He patted my arm. "We're doing everything we can."

  "Can I see him?"

  He nodded. "He's in the intensive-care unit on the second floor."

  I didn't have time to wait for the lifts, so I ignored them and ran up the stairs. Through a glass window I saw him in one of the rooms, hooked up to all sorts of equipment, drips going into his arms.

  I stifled a sob in the back of my throat and raised my hand to the glass.

  A nurse came up behind me. "It's okay, love, you can go in. He's only allowed two visitors at a time, though."

  I nodded dumbly and opened the door.

  Sitting on the bed next to him, I gripped his hand. It felt lifeless and cold. "You're going to be fine, Brad." If I kept repeating it, maybe I'd believe it. And maybe he would, too, in the depths of his unconsciousness.

  I stroked his face as the tears snaked down my cheeks, and listened to the beep, beep, beep of the monitors echoing in the room.

  Hours passed with nurses coming and going, taking his temperature and recording his blood pressure, adjusting his drips, adding more medication, but he didn't wake up. I kept my vigil on the bed. Somehow, I knew he could feel me there.

  A tapping on the glass window caught my attention. I turned to see Mum and Dad waiting outside. Kissing Brad's hand, I said. "I'll be back in a minute."

  Mum enveloped me in a hug as Dad stroked my hair.

  "How is he, honey?" Mum asked.

  "It's too soon to tell. Oh, God, what if he doesn't get better?" I clutched her arm.

  "Ssshhhh," she whispered into my neck. "He's got a fighting spirit."

  "Of course he'll get better," Dad said softly. "I'm not missing out on the wedding, not now your mother's finally bought the damned hat she's been raving on about for months."

  I managed a slight smile at that. I had to think positively.

  "But the doctor said there might be some complications." I turned to look back at Brad, dread seeping through my veins.

  "Do you want us to stay?" Dad asked.

  I shook my head. "No. I'd rather be alone with him. And there's no point in you both sitting here doing nothing. I'll phone you if anything changes."

  Mum gave me a quick squeeze. "Everything will be okay. I'm sure of it."

  "If you need anything, just call us,"
Dad said.

  I waved them goodbye and went back in the room.

  At some point, I must've fallen asleep. I woke with a start when Hacker entered the room.

  I rubbed my swollen eyes and leaned forward, hoping that his spell had miraculously worked and Brad would be awake and talking.

  No such luck.

  "Did you do the spell?" I asked Hacker.

  He slumped down in a chair on the opposite side of Brad's bed, nodding. "I fed Marmalade while I was at your house, too."

  "Thanks. So how long do they take to work?"

  Hacker shook his head, staring at his best friend. "Impossible to tell. Sometimes they work straight away, sometimes it takes a few days."

  What if Brad didn't have a few days?

  "If the black magic is too strong, sometimes they won't work at all." He gave me a solemn look.

  I choked on a new wave of panic.

  A nurse came into the room and hooked up another packet of drugs to the IV. "You may as well go home and get some rest. We'll phone you the minute he wakes up."

  I shook my head. "I'm not leaving."

  She gave me a smile. "Of course. It's your choice." And she slipped out the door.

  I glanced at Hacker. "You don't have to stay."

  "I'm not leaving either."

  A few hours later, I stood up and stretched, pacing the tiny room like a caged lion, gnawing on my thumbnail again so much I made it bleed.

  "You're making me dizzy," Hacker said after a while.

  "I need something to concentrate on to stop me worrying. Can you get your laptop?"

  "Sure."

  "Dad gave me a CD of some CCTV footage that shows Steven meeting Chantal on the day she disappeared. It's in my rucksack at home. Can you bring them both here so we can check them out?"

  He stood up and hugged me. "If there's any news, call me."

  "Will do."

  "Want me to get you something to eat?"

  "No. I'm not hungry."

  He pulled back. "But bad news always makes you hungry."

  "I know. Maybe it's just other people's bad news that makes me hungry. Right now my throat's so tight I couldn't even swallow a wafer-thin mint."