Allison turned to the church for answers. After ten years absence from her faith, she sat in the rectory facing a priest who could have been her son.

Father Michael sat before her, somber and secure in his vocation. His first words were what she expected.

"Have you asked God to give your husband back to you?"

"Of course. I've done everything I know to get Simon back." Allison knew it wouldn't be easy. In her mind, Simon's ugly words came back to haunt her.

"I can't take it anymore, Allison," he'd said. "You're just too damn boring. Maybe you'll find a man somewhere who gets off on baking cookies and watching afternoon soaps with you. As for me, I don't want Suzie Homemaker. I need mystery. I'm out of here."

The priest frowned, studying her as if to judge her worth. His hands steepled before him in an attitude of supplication. He tapped his index fingers against his lips as he thought. "Perhaps there is an answer."

"That's why I came, Father. I need your advice."

"What you need . . . is to go to a houngan, a voodoo priest."

Allison's eyes widened. This wasn't at all what she expected him to say.

"Does my solution surprise you?" he asked. "It shouldn't. Voodoo has roots in the holy mother church. Think of a communion between ancient African faith and Catholicism. Perfectly respectable, even in this day and age."

A shudder slithered up Allison's spine. "Hollywood's rendition of voodoo has me spooked," she said. "'White Zombie'; 'I Walked with a Zombi' - chickens sacrificed, people gyrating to the beat of drums, people being possessed by gods - those movies give me the creeps,"

"Allison, those movies are fiction. Voodoo is dignified and beautiful, and most definitely not fiction. It's very real, I assure you."

She shook her head. "Perhaps. I don't know. It's still creepy."

He stared at her with deep, unsettling eyes. "It's up to you. What God won't give, perhaps the loa will. The loa are generous to those who long for love - if they're willing to pay the price."

Desperate, willing to try anything to regain Simon's affection, she grasped at this last resort. Father Michael said he would approach the houngan and make the arrangements. All she would need to contribute was a lock of Simon's hair - easy enough, since, in his hurry to start a new life, he'd left his belongings behind - and a bottle of good old Bacardi Supreme. Seemed the loa liked rum. Inexpensive price tag for the man of her dreams.

Allison went home to gather the goods. She kept trying to contact Simon, but he wouldn't return her calls.

Two days later, Allison drove the directed number of miles south of Saint Augustine, past huge cypress trees and alligator swamps. The sun beat down on the car with primal fury. Birds cried out in warning as she passed. Once, slowly, a bloated snake slithered across the road. The Liberty's tires ran it over with a satisfying thump and Allison smiled.