Bruno appeared first, his green form bright against the red background. He was young and gangly, obviously a teenager, and he was lying very still on his bed. His eyelids fluttered when there was a knock, and he groaned, curling up tightly.
"In," he croaked.
Casita opened the door to reveal a teenage Julieta holding a plate piled with arepas. She hurried in and set the plate on his bedside table then brushed his hair out of his face.
"Juli," Bruno rasped. He squinted at her. "What time is it?"
"Lunch time," she said, picking up an arepa. "I'm trying a new recipe. Have one." She held it out to him, an anxious, hopeful look on her face.
Bruno gazed up at her, sorrow in his eyes. "Pretty sure this batch won't work either, Juli."
Julieta continued to hold out the food, and Bruno closed his eyes and sighed then reached out a trembling hand to take it. He took a small bite and chewed slowly, his eyes already resigned. Julieta gazed at him, but her smile began to fade as he showed no improvement. She sagged and lowered herself to sit on the bed, defeated.
"It didn't work," she whispered sadly.
"It's okay, Juli," Bruno said hoarsely. "I'll be better in a couple days. I just need rest. And food. Even if it doesn't heal me, it sure makes my stomach happy."
"You'll eat anything," Julieta groused, but she smiled.
"But your cooking is my favorite," Bruno replied, his hazel eyes sparkling.
There was a timid tap and Pepa came into the room. A cloud was above her head, and she looked nervous.
"What's wrong, Pepita?" Bruno asked.
"Well… mamá wants to talk with you."
Bruno's face pinched and he sighed heavily. "Of course she does." He slowly shifted to put his feet on the floor and fumbled with his sandals.
"No, you need to rest, changuito," Julieta argued, trying to stop him.
"If I don't go down, she'll come up," Bruno pointed out. "It's better to do what she wants."
"That's how you got in this position to begin with!" Julieta exclaimed. "You knew better than to do those three extra visions."
Bruno didn't even glance up, but he looked embarrassed. "It made mamá happy," he said in a small voice.
"I… I don't think it did," Pepa said softly.
Bruno looked up at her, his mouth pressing into a line as his brows came together. He looked worried, reluctant, but he still got his sandals on and stood on weak legs to stagger down to the courtyard. A young, vibrant Alma was pacing back and forth, her face disapproving as she shook her head and muttered to herself. Bruno got down to the courtyard, and his sisters skittered back to partially hide and watch. Concern was on their faces and they whispered together, eyeing Alma warily. Bruno had to take a moment to lean against the railing to catch his breath before he limped over to stand near his mother.
"You wanted to see me, mamá?" Bruno asked, standing up straight.
Alma turned to look at him and placed her hands on her hips. "What were you thinking giving that vision to Mario?"
Bruno paused to think. "Was that the one where he's going to be a father? Isn't that a good thing?"
"No, no! Mario García! You said he'd get into a bicycle crash!"
Bruno flinched. "It's just what I saw, mamá."
"I didn't send them to you to see that!"
"I don't control what I see, mamá," Bruno said, exasperated. "He wanted to know about his business, and that's what I saw. What more do you want from me?"
"I want to know what's wrong, Bruno!" Alma snapped. She turned to face him. "You used to give such good visions, and now all you seem to see are bad things happening! You need to stop making bad predictions!"
Frustration crossed Bruno's young face and he threw his hands up. "¡Ay, mamá! I don't control what I see! I just see what will happen! Good, bad, it will happen anyway! No matter the topic! If they don't want to see bad things, they shouldn't ask for me to see the future anymore!"
"Now you're trying to shirk your duty to this community?" Alma began to pace again. "This isn't good enough, Bruno!"
"What do you expect me to do, mamá?" Bruno demanded.
"I expect you not to curse people!" Alma shouted, her eyes sparking with rage. "Am I understood, Bruno?"
Pain, raw and ugly, flashed across Bruno's face, along with shock. He took a step back as both Pepa and Julieta covered their mouths in the background, horrified by the accusation. The courtyard rang with silence as the words seemed to hang there, ugly and accusatory. But though they were all watching Bruno, none of them heard or saw what happened inside of him at that moment. With a crack louder than any other before it, a chasm tore itself across Bruno's whole torso, moving outward from his heart as a pulse of angry red flashed over his green form.
Bruno stared at his mother through wounded eyes before he slowly straightened up. A docile look came into his eyes as he slipped his hands behind his back and stared at his mother. Then he nodded.
"I'm sorry, mamá," he said, his voice pleasant, too pleasant considering what had just been said. "I'll try to give only good visions from now on."
And the young Alma smiled at her son, pleased. But those watching could now see the cracks that had torn through Bruno on that day. And they also knew that he'd never stopped having bad visions. The promise had been meaningless. And he'd known it at the time.
As the scene froze and the tablet materialized, the present Bruno shuddered but not a sound came from his lips. Mirabel caught the tablet and stared at it then looked up at her grandmother. Alma looked shocked. She took the ruby glass, staring at it with sad eyes. Regret was in every line of her tired face, and she stood up and stared at the wreck of a man that was her son.
"I'm sorry, Brunito," she said quietly.
But he couldn't hear her. Mirabel wrapped her arms around her uncle, shaking him. "Okay tío. You did all the visions."
But Bruno didn't move for several moments. Then he turned to look up at her, reaching his trembling fingers up to touch her face. As he did, the sand burned green and the vision that flashed across the swirling surface was the one Bruno had had about Casita falling. As the tablet solidified in his hands, the past Bruno, green against the background of red, stared at it. His face pinched as he looked at his niece's face. Then he took a step back and let the vision tablet slip from his hands. It shattered at his feet as he turned away, looking weak. His face was blank as he leaned against the wall then turned to walk out of his vision cave. He stared down at the desert far below as he walked across the bridge and to the steps. Then he began to walk down, his expression pained and his stare vacant. A flash of the memory of Camilo passed before them and then Bruno came back to himself, having descended over a hundred stairs. Another flash, and his memory of Luisa shoving him into the bookcase. Down another hundred. Dolores was running. Another hundred.
Isabela, laughing about how he did bad things on purpose. Julieta not letting him see her newborn's future. Pepa slapping him across the face at her wedding. Félix and Agustín laughing at him. All these were interspersed with Bruno descending more and more stairs. And then he was at his doorway, walking down the stairs to the hallway. He paused for a moment and looked back at his door. The glow flickered and faded, and he stared then turned and walked out of the hallway. And then they heard weeping. He paused outside the cracked nursery door to see a five-year-old Mirabel lying facedown on her bed, sobbing into her pillow.
"Why?" she stammered. "Did I do it wrong? Why don't I get the magic, mamá?"
"I don't know, Mira," Julieta said, looking up at Agustín for help.
"Mi vida, it is okay," Agustín murmured, stroking her back. "You're just as special as you were before."
"Abuela didn't smile at me," Mirabel choked. "She smiled at Camilo."
Bruno listened to his niece's sobs and his face twisted as he staggered a few doors down to lean against the wall. His back hit the wall, and Bruno stared blankly at the nursery door. Then he looked down at his hands.
"My fault," he murmured. His bottom lip trembled. "They'll tear her apart, and it'll be my fault."
Casita's floor rippled underneath his feet, but Bruno didn't seem to notice. He stared at his hands then curled his arms around his middle.
"I have to go," he whispered. "I can't. I just… she doesn't deserve that." Alma's accusation passed over the red sand then Bruno was there. But something shifted. Red began to inch up his feet, oozing over the green and blotting it out. Bruno swallowed. "I can't curse her like I've cursed everybody else."
Pain and determination crossed his face and he stood up and began to move toward the stairs. Casita reacted suddenly, and a handrail shifted to block his path. Bruno stopped.
"Casita, I have to go," he said, his voice soft but firm.
Without any trouble, he hopped over the handrail and walked determinedly on. Casita rippled its tiles and sent him back into the rail before placing another in his path. Bruno was getting frustrated, but the pain never left his face.
"Casita, what other choice do I have? I'm not going to curse Mirabel's life!"
There was a pause as Casita's tiles rippled. The house was clearly anxious, and it shivered in stress as Bruno waited for an answer. The whole time, red was slowly bleeding into the green, up his legs, up his fingers and arms, unnoticed or known by any that night ten years before. Then a noise, a soft, barely there cracking and shifting. Bruno frowned and the handrail behind him let him pass as he followed the crumbling noise to a painting. Mirabel recognized it as the painting the tunnel had been behind. Bruno leaned forward and touched it. It swung forward silently, revealing the tunnel into Casita's inner beams. Only now did Mirabel realize that it looked like an open wound in the house's walls.
Bruno's bottom lip trembled and tears filled his eyes. His fingers caressed Casita's wall beside the opening. He placed a shaking hand on the wall and peered into the dark tunnel. Hope and despair fought in his eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks.
"You'll have to help muffle the sounds," he said, his voice quavering. "I don't want Dolores to hear me. It won't work otherwise."
Casita's tiles rippled again, and Bruno let out a choked noise as he gently pet Casita.
"Always so good to me, Casita. I don't deserve it." He turned to look at each door, still crying, still shaking, but there was determination and resignation in his face. The red continued to seep up and his form, and now it was coming from his head as well. "They'd all be better off without me and my stupid curse."
And as he turned away, lifting his foot to step into the wall, a pulse of red came from his heart. The green that had stood out in every vision was now gone completely. Bruno was as red as the rest of the vision, and they heard a cracking noise as the red engulfed him. But it wasn't over his heart. There was nothing left inside of him that could crack. It was the walls of Casita, cracking outward from the tunnel as the painting swung shut behind Bruno. It was the beginning of the destruction of Casita. And it had started the night Bruno finally left the family behind, separating himself because he finally believed he was cursed.
As the tablet formed in front of Bruno, there was a noticeable change. Bruno screamed for the first time in what seemed like hours, but it couldn't have been so long. He staggered to his feet, his red eyes flickering and flashing, his body convulsing from the pressure of so many visions and the agonizing memories. Then he spasmed one final time and fell backward, landing on a mound of sand before going very still. The glowing, swirling sand exploded outward, signaling the end of the visions after far too many.
Mirabel caught the final vision, and the family stood very still in the dark room, lit for a few moments by the glowing tablets until green fire flickered to life in the brackets. The eerie lighting sent strange shadows dancing around them. They all gazed at the stack of visions before turning their attention to Bruno. He still hadn't moved. Mirabel set aside the vision and pushed her glasses up.
"¿Tío Bruno?" she asked softly. No response. "¿Tío? Can you hear me?" Nothing. Mirabel scrambled to her feet and hurried over to her uncle. She dropped down beside him, the sand soft and pliable under her knees, and touched his face. He was completely icy to the touch. Panic flashed across her expression and she shook him. "¡Tío!"
Fear spread around the room, faint at first but then it grew as Bruno didn't move at all. Finally Mirabel pressed her ear against his chest. There was a long pause before she sagged in relief.
"He's alive," she sighed.
"But he'll be very sick for a while," Julieta said quietly.
"How many did he have?" Pepa asked fearfully.
Mirabel counted the glowing slabs of ruby glass. "Nine."
"He's never had more than five in a day before," Julieta whispered. "And he was so… so ill after that."
After a few moments, Camilo walked forward and shifted aside the other visions before coming to his own. His face was stricken as he lifted it in trembling hands and touched the cracks over his uncle's heart. Without a word he stood up, still staring, and refused to look up. One by one, the others gathered up their tablets. Only Antonio didn't have one, and Mirabel held the last one, staring at the red tablet.
Alma finally broke the silence. "We should get him into bed. Luisa, can you please carry him?"
"Down the stairs," Luisa said glumly. She held out the tablet to Antonio. "Hold this, primito. Don't drop it."
Mirabel stood up. "No stairs," she said. She knocked gently on the wall. "Casita? Can you hear me?"
In response, the fire burned brighter and flashed.
"Can we have a slide?"
Another flash and the door of the vision cave opened as the fire went out. The dim light indicated that outside it was growing dark. Luisa carefully picked up her uncle, who was so light, so delicate. His skin was slick with sweat and gritty with sand, and he was so very cold. They walked out, the others carrying the ruby glass gingerly as they crossed the bridge, and they all paused when they saw a slide on the edge next to where the stairs began.
"I always wondered why people complained about the stairs," Julieta murmured. "The last time I was in here, there were two flights. I thought it was silly to complain about two flights of stairs."
"How many are there?" Pepa wondered as she hesitantly approached the edge.
"Tío said there's over a thousand. He's counted," Mirabel said grimly. She paused and turned to Alma. "He said the stairs started appearing when he was fifteen."
Alma glanced down at the vision in her hands, the emerald green Bruno standing respectfully before her younger self with his heart split wide open, hidden behind a bland smile. "He was fifteen in this vision. I have no doubt," she said sadly.
Mirabel nodded. "I thought so." She paused. "Let's get him down. Luisa, be careful. There are some cliffs on the way down. Don't let him hit his head."
Luisa nodded and carefully sat down, cradling her uncle as close to her chest as she could before pushing off and beginning to slide. Mirabel followed a few seconds later, holding the tablet to her own chest. There was no joy sliding down this time. Not even Antonio cheered as they slid, one by one, down to the desert sands below. By the time they had all gotten down, Luisa was carrying Bruno through the waterfall of sand and into his bedroom. They followed wordlessly.
Pepa, Julieta, and Alma carefully brushed the sand off of Bruno's limp form then Julieta shook out and made the bed. Pepa pulled his sandals off and Alma tucked him in after Luisa laid him gently on the bed. His eyelids fluttered briefly before he shivered and muttered, curling up into a little ball as he fell back into a heavy sleep. The family stared at him for several long moments, then, almost as one, they turned and filtered out of the room, taking their tablets with them.
None of them could meet each other's eyes, their attention glued on the visions. Each person carried with them confusion and grief and guilt. They broke off and went to their rooms, and Félix and Agustín headed downstairs with their vision for a drink. How, they all wondered in one way or another, how had they never noticed Bruno's pain? Bit by bit, they'd cracked Bruno's heart until it had shattered and he stepped out of their lives. Not even his mother and sisters had noticed the damage they'd done. The scariest thing was that none of them really knew how to get him back. What could they do to fix the man they'd broken so thoroughly that he'd simply left because there had been nothing left for him to hold on to? How could they fill in the gaping chasm and the generations of cracks that split him apart? Was there anything they could do?
That night there was little sleep, and even Mirabel didn't know the answers to the painful, nagging questions that wouldn't let them rest.