Chapter 3 - The Arrival of the Three Vultures
At 11:50 PM, the heavy glass doors of St. Raphael’s slammed open, letting in a gust of wet, freezing wind that made the lobby ferns shiver.
I was standing outside Room 8 when the first footsteps hit the hallway linoleum. It wasn’t a slow, reverent approach; it was the hurried, aggressive stomp of people who felt deeply inconvenienced by mortality.
Robert appeared around the corner first. He was wearing a grease-stained flannel shirt over a gray t-shirt, no jacket despite the torrential downpour, and his hair was plastered to his forehead by the rain. His face was set in a permanent scowl of grievance—the look of a man who believed the entire universe was conspiring to make him miss a delivery deadline.
"Where is she?" he demanded, marching straight toward Room 8 without wiping his boots.
Before I could answer, Claudia rounded the corner behind him. She had a black trench coat thrown over her pajamas, her hair wrapped in a silk bonnet that was sliding off to one side, and she was wailing loudly enough to wake every dementia patient on the east wing.
"Oh, Mama! Oh, sweet Jesus, my mother!" she shrieked, throwing her hands up into the air like a stage actress performing a tragedy in front of a half-empty theater.
And then came Daniel.
Daniel was the last. He walked with a stiff, unnatural posture, clutching a thick, black leather folder against his chest like a soldier holding a shield in a firefight. His hair was neatly combed, his jacket dry—he must have parked under the covered portico—but his eyes darted from side to side with the panicked energy of a cornered animal.
"Mom," Daniel breathed, pushing past Claudia and Robert as they crowded into the doorway of Room 8.
The room, which usually smelled of lavender disinfectant and old age, suddenly smelled of wet wool, cheap cologne, and unbridled panic.
Inside the bed, Mrs. Mercedes didn't move. She didn't flinch at Claudia’s wailing. She didn't glare at Robert’s aggressive posture. She simply opened her eyes—slowly, regally—and looked past them.
"You're late," she said.
The silence that followed was absolute. Even Claudia’s theatrical sobbing cut off mid-gasp, choking in her throat.
Robert blinked, shifting his weight from one heavy work boot to the other. "Ma? We came as soon as we got the call. The traffic on the loop was—"
"Quiet, Robert," Mrs. Mercedes said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of a judge bringing down a gavel.
She turned her head slightly on the pillow, her dark eyes landing on Claudia. "And stop that noise, Claudia. You didn't cry this hard when your dog got run over, and you certainly didn't cry when you told the nurse on the phone that I was too expensive to keep alive."
Claudia’s face drained of color. Her mouth opened and closed twice like a landed fish. "Ma... what? Who told you—"
"I heard you," Mrs. Mercedes said simply. "Old does not mean deaf, Claudia. Just like old does not mean stupid."
Finally, her gaze shifted to the youngest. Her favorite. The baby.
Daniel stood frozen near the foot of the bed, his knuckles white where they gripped the black leather folder against his chest.
"And you, Daniel," Mrs. Mercedes whispered, a faint, razor-thin smile touching her red lips. "You didn't even ask if I was breathing. You asked if I could hold a pen."
Daniel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Mom... don't talk like that. We’re here. I brought the papers for the house, just like we discussed months ago, remember? You said we should fix the title so it doesn't go through probate—"
"I never said that, Daniel," Mrs. Mercedes interrupted, her voice dropping an octave, steady and cold as winter river water. "You said it. And I was too tired to argue. But I'm not tired anymore."
At that exact moment, a tall, impeccably dressed man in a charcoal suit stepped out from the shadows of the hallway bathroom attached to Room 8. He was holding a leather briefcase in one hand and three thick, yellow envelopes in the other.
Robert spun around, startled. "Who the hell are you?"
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The man didn't flinch. He walked calmly to the side of the bed, looked down at Mrs. Mercedes with deep, professional respect, and nodded.
"Good evening, Mrs. Alvarez," Mr. Javier Ocampo said smoothly. "I see your children have finally decided to join us."
