Page 47 of Voodoo Burning

I hear, “911 what is your emergency?” from her cell phone.

Her eyes dart to it clutched in her hand before she brings it to her ear. “I believe the Voodoo Burning killer is at my house at 1012 Royal Street!”

I press my foot harder onto the accelerator, inching the bumper of the car to kiss the one in front of us. In my mind, I’m driving over everything ahead of us to get to Dominique. In reality, we’re in hell stuck behind cars doing the speed limit and, for once, obeying every goddamn traffic law known to man.

“Ma’am, are you at the residence?” the dispatcher questions her.

“No, but my niece is, please hurry!”

“I’m going to put you on a brief hold. Stay on the line.”

“We’re on our way there.” Hattie’s in control and keeping it together. I, on the other hand, I want to destroy everything in our way.

“Stay on the line, please,” the dispatcher repeats.

There’s a beat of silence as Hattie’s street comes into view. There’s an oppressive weight bearing down on us, keeping us from breathing and squeezing the hope right the fuck out of us. As we turn at the corner, the front of her house comes into view.

The world stops when we see the glow of fire coming from the back of the house through the front windows.

“Nononooooo!” Hattie wails next to me.

I stop the car in the middle of the street in front of her house. I. DON’T. GIVE. A FUCK!!

I’m out of the car and jumping the black wrought iron fence. Hattie yells, “I’ll get the front door, you get the back!”

My feet pound on the ground as I barrel through the narrow alleyway between the townhouses to the back patio.

Dear God, PLEASE let her be safe! Don’t let her be here, anywhere else but here!

When I turn the corner at the back of the house, I can see the fire is strongest in there.

My heart explodes inside my chest when I see her inside the house through one of the windows. The fire hasn’t gotten to her yet, thank God, but it’s close.

“DOMINIQUE!” I yell as a grab the bistro chair sitting at the small table next to the gurgling fountain, the tranquil scene back here a mocking contrast to the horror unfolding on the other side of the wall. Thankfully these houses have windows all the way to the floor. I throw the chair through the window next to the one Dominique is lying in front of. She’s in the corner of the room, I think it’s the kitchen, and from what I can tell she’s unconscious. I run through the fountain making sure to pass under the flowing water to get my shirt wet, then jump through the window. The flames lick my skin when I enter, being wet buys me very little time. It’s enough for me to pass by and kick out the window behind Dominique and carry her through.

As much as I want to immediately start mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on her, I don’t want us to be back here should the fire get out of control before the fire department arrives. I run through the alleyway with her in my arms back to the front of the house, all the way across the street, before I place her on the ground.

“Fuck,” I growl when I see the tape across her mouth. There’s no time to be gentle, so I rip it off. I start chest compressions. “Come on, baby, wake the fuck up!” I snarl.

Hattie’s at my side. “Is she…” Her question trails off, she can’t bring herself to ask if Dominique’s got a heartbeat.

“She’s alive,” I growl as I lower my head and pinch her nose, then pull her mouth open, close my mouth over hers and fill her lungs with air.

That’s how she’s going to stay. Alive and well and beautiful and the best thing to happen to me.

I lift from her face and place my hands on her chest again and start to count as I do the compressions. One, two, three, four, five, I press over and over again on her chest until I get to thirty. Once more, I pinch her nose, and breathe for her. When I get to nineteen on the third round of chest compressions, she moans.

Dominique fucking moans.

“Baby,” I almost sob as I scoop her up and hold her to me wrapped in my arms.

She’s safe, she’s alive, and hopefully this whole horrendous nightmare is over.

“Oh, praise be.” Hattie does sob.

“Ignatius,” Dominique whispers.

“Sshh, baby, don’t talk. I’m sure it hurts.” I stroke her hair and rock her against me. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

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