Chapter 1
The room lay at the end of hallway tucked away from the main wing of the home. The hallway lacked the ornate mahogany ceilings, colorful Spanish tiles, thick wool carpet, and oil portraits adorning the rest of the Spanish Baroque mansion. It was not a place you would expect a man of his wealth and power to sleep, but Señor Santiago was not a man who cared about other's expectations. Tonight, the hallway felt as though it were empty of everything, save the pale glow of candlelight seeping out from under the door and an occasional rasping breath of a body clinging to life. That sound of futile desperation would shake the bravest man to his very core.
The story begins within that room, but before you open the door and cross the threshold, be forewarned, the scene that hides behind this simple piece of wood is not for the faint of heart. A man lays dying and death does not care for beauty. If this subject frightens or distributes you, there is no shame in turning away. Indeed, this scene is only the first of many deaths that will unfold. For what is life without death and this story is ultimately about of the most precious gift of life —love.
Señor Santiago was born the second son in a family of wealth and prestige. His elder brother, Juan, had the misfortune to succumb to Dysentery at the tender age of nineteen. His mother prayed for her son's soul and thanked God for having had the foresight to give her a second son. Señor S — who was only seventeen at the time, was still old enough to know what a stroke of luck his brother's death had been. Having experienced only the finer things in life he had felt ill-prepared to journey forth and make his own fortune but God had seen fit to spare him this struggle. God had welcomed Juan into heaven and had given him a life of ease and luxury. Now that his life was nearly spent, he looked at his own second son with a mixture of pity and guilt. His boy had not been so fortunate. In the morning, he would no longer be here on Earth to guide and protect his son. His eldest would cut him loose, and the child would need to find his own way in this world.
"I regret, my son, the burden you must face,". The old man had spoken the words at a great cost. Immediately following his declaration, a coughing fit ensued which ended only after he was able to spit out blood tinged sputum into the bowl he'd been given.
The boy by his side patted the man's hands gently, "I do not fear hard work, Father. Do not trouble yourself over my future. Focus on recovering."
"This is not what I regret. As the second son in our family line, you have been cursed." His eyelids had grown heavy, but this needed to be said.
"Father, this is delirium that plagues you. Sleep now and we shall speak again in the morning when you are rested."
"No." The strength of his tone and fire in his eyes made it clear he would not be deterred. He would speak, and his son would listen. "I will not be here in the morning. I know this because of the curse. You too will see it. You will have a vision of your own death. It will come near the end and will leave you with no doubt as to the veracity of my words. No matter how horrible it is, you cannot escape it. Do not even try. Any attempts to cheat death of his pleasures are futile and will only ruin your last moments here on Earth. When your vision comes, use it as a sign to say your goodbyes, conclude your business, and take in the last of the beauty surrounding you."
The boy nodded to humor his father, and in the weeks that followed, this warning was forgotten in the sea of grief and sorrow. The conversation of a half-crazed, dying man would lay dormant for nearly a decade, until the one night when the vision came to Miguel Santiago.